' 


CORDS 


L 


•-V    •'• 

m 


THE  LIBKAIU 


UBRARlf 
OF 


DISCORDS 


DISCORDS 


BY 

DONALD  EVANS 


PHILADELPHIA 
BROWN  BROTHERS 
MCMXII 


COPYRIGHT,  1911 

BY 

BROWN  BROTHERS 


PRINTED    DECEMBER   1.    1911 


CONTENTS 

Monochromes 

Somnambulist:    p.  1 1 
Nocturne  In  Red:    p.  12 


Discords 

Tristesse:    p.  15 

Nuptial  Night :    p.  16 

Amantes,  Amentes :    p.  17 

Tout  Passe,  Tout  Casse,  Tout  Lasse :  p.  18 

Portrait  of  a  Lady :    p.  19 

In  the  Boudoir :    p.  20 

Silver  Wedding:    p.  21 

Divorce :    p.  22 

Adieux,  Paniers,  Vendages  Sont  Faites:    p.  23 

Cette  Maladie  Qui  S'appelle  la  Vie:   p.  24 

Snow  Touching  Woman 

Snow  Touching  Woman  :   p.  27 

Clouds  Flying  Across  the  Dark 

Souvenir :    p.  35 

Silhouette:    p.  36 

Jadis  et  Naguere:    p.  37 

Agnes  Thorpe  Speaks 
Agnes  Thorpe  Speaks :    p.  41 


2083068 


Epithalamies 

Kisses  of  Ice:   p.  51 

Morning :    Revealment :    p.  52 

Cup  of  Wine :    Recognition :    p.  53 

On  High  Hills :    Winds'  War :    p.  55 

Virgin  Moods:    p.  57 

Immortal  Maiden-Mother :    p.  58 

Golden  Joy  of  June :    p.  60 

Moonlight  Violins :    p.  62 

Dissolving  Views :    p.  63 

Last  Orientation :    p.  64 

Laud :    A  Sonnet :    p.  65 

In  Defense 

In  Defense :    p.  69 

Songs  Eternal 

Northern  Nights :    p.  75 

Resemblance:    p.  76 

Sonnet  Eternal :    p.  77 

Quoi,  Done,  Les  Rois  Meurent-Ils:   p.  78 

Je  Ne  Vis  Plus :    J'assiste  A  la  Vie :    p.  79 

In  the  Gardens :    Versailles :    p.  80 

At  Skagen :    p.  81 

Underglooms 

Night-Song  for  Autumn:    p.  85 
Monody:    p.  86 

Peacock  Feathers 

Placide  Pours  Tea:    p.  89 
We  Two  At  Table  :    p.  90 
Churches:   p.  91 
Constancy:    p.  92 
Government  Bonds:    p.  93 
Valse :    p.  94 

Rondeau :    Annisquam :    p.  95 
Hundredth  Chance :    p.  96 
Roses,  Roses  :    p.  97 


Dawn  Chants 

Prolusion :    p.  101 

Before  Dawn :    p.  102 

Lark- Song  for  the  Morning-Star  :   p.  103 

/Egean  Isles:   p.  104 

Song  To  the  Spring  Wind :   p.  105 

At  Walt  Whitman's  Tomb :   p.  106 

Fulfilment:    p.  107 

Preludes 

Awakening:    p.  in 

Elegiac:    p.  112 

Victor:    p.  113 

Supreme:    p.  114 

Dejection:    p.  115 

Land's  End:    Cornwall:    p.  116 

Futility:    p.  117 

In  the  Morgue:    A  Dead  Visionary:   p.  118 

Unpursued:    p.  119 

Irremeable :    p.  120 

Creation :    p.  121 


MONOCHROMES 

In  White  and  Scarlet 


In  Memoriam 
Nonvald  Shapleigh 


SOMNAMBULIST 

LIKE  a  long  winding-sheet  unrolled 
Across  the  garden  snow  is  spread, 
And  silent  in  the  midnight  cold 
The    pallid   fountain    rears   its    head. 
Around  its  gaunt  base  three  poplars  grey 

Stand  hooded  with  a  soft  frost  lace, 
And  like  tall  ghosts  they  gently  sway; 
Shapes   of  the    grave   their   shadows   trace 
On  the  great  marble  house'  white  face. 

The  silver  moon  hath  blanched  to  white, 
And  fleecy  clouds  float  shivering  by. 

Out  of  the  house  into  the  night 
Glides  a  pale  lady  quietly; 

A    Persian    cat,   cream-colored,   stalks 
Behind  her,  while  with  bended  head 

She  slowly  through  the  garden  walks, 
Risen  up  from  a  downy  bed, 
Lost  in  dreams  she  is  hither  led. 

Her  night-gown  gleams  like  ivory, 

Its  silken  folds  round  her  limbs   cling; 

O'er  the  snow  she  treads  tremblingly, 
The  bitter  wind  her  blood  doth  sting. 

A  bride-rose  freezes  in  her  hair, 
Her  little  feet  are  bare  and  white; 

She  quivers  in  the  icy  air, 

And  wakes  with  scream  of  wild  affright, 
Bathed  in  a  stream  of  pale  moonlight. 


II 


NOCTURNE  IN  RED 

fT'IS  cold  in  my  heart  as  the  woods  are  cold, 

Where  the  bleak  trees  quake  in  the  bitter  wind. 
The  fallen  leaves  are  a  riot  of  red, 
But  they  are  not  warm,  they  are  dead  instead. 
'Tis  cold  in  the  woods  a.s  my  heart  is  cold. 
And  the  kiss  of  death  is  borne  on  the  wind. 

'Tis  chill  in  my  heart  as  the  air  is  chill, 
And  my  thoughts  are  bare  like  the  barren  trees. 

A  flame-flush  spreads  over  the  western  sky, 

But  the  fire  comes  only  when  day  must  die. 

'Tis  chill  in  the  air  as  my  heart  is  chill 
With  desires  that  are  frozen  like  the  trees. 


12 


DISCORDS 


To 

O.  F.  Theis 


TRISTESSE 

WHY  must  joy  come  to  sadden  me, 
And   lure   me   from   the   neutral   gloom 
That  holds  my  soul  dark  pityingly 
From  desires  that  can  never  be; 

Why  must  hope  break  into  my   room? 

I  had  a  smile  to  greet  the  blight 

Of  every  longing  of  my  heart. 
Wild  winging  birds  that  took  to  flight, 
In  long,  low  curves  they  passed  from  sight, 

Silently  watched  I  each  depart. 

Why  must  the  birds  fly  back  again, 

And  circle  high  above  my  head? 
Thought  of  recapture  is  so  vain, 
Why  must  my  peace  be  turned  to  pain; 

What  has  life  to  give  when  one  is  dead? 


NUPTIAL   NIGHT 

WE  are  alone;  the  marriage-knot  is  fast; 
The  door  is  closed  against  the  world  outside. 
Nothing  now  stands  between  me  and  my  bride, 
The  fatal,  fruitful  midnight  comes  at  last. 
We  grope  toward  a  kiss;  escape  is  past, 
But  for  a  moment  may  we  still  abide 
Possessed  of  our  own  souls,  and  then  love's   tide 
Sweeps  us  to  seaward  strangled  and  aghast. 


16 


AMANTES,   AMENTES 

MY  friend  became  a  haughty  beauty's  slave, 
Laid  waste  his  life  in  vain  pursuit  of  her. 
He  was  her  jest,  and  never  once  did  stir 
One  meagre   heart-beat  for  the  love  he  gave. 
Devotion  held  him  hers  down  to  the  grave, 
And  though  we  scoffed  because   he   bore  each   slur 
We  knew  his  worship  on  him  did  confer 
The  patent  of  a  fine  soul,  strong  and  brave! 

My  love,  body  and  soul,  is  wholly  mine, 

But  for  all  that,  sadder  my  state  than  his. 
More  cruel  than  a  beauty's  cold  disdain 
Is   her   well-meaning   smile,   stupid,   inane, 
Who  has  no  other  offering  save  her  kiss, 
Yet  no  one  names  me  brave  and  strong  and  fine! 


TOUT   PASSE,   TOUT   CASSE,   TOUT   LASSE 


H 


OW  sad  it  is  since  thou  dost  so  love  me, 

And  since  I  live  only  to  have  thy  kiss, 
That  our  hearts'  wishes  never  can  agree, 
How  sad  it  is! 


How  hopefully  we  start  the  search  for  bliss, 

With  eager  feet  we  hunt  it  hungrily, 
And  yet  the  perfect  joy  we  always  miss. 

How  sad  it  is  whate'er  I  want  of  thee 

Fate  makes  thee  wish  another  thing  than  this, 
And  happiness  lies  slain  in  infancy, 
How  sad  it  is! 


18 


PORTRAIT   OF   A   LADY 

AND  he  may  not  divorce  her;  she  will  weep 
At  the  first  breath  which  hints  that  they  should 
part, 

Nor  may  he  teach  how  marriage  might  with  art 
Be  kept  sweet.     When  he  talks  she  goes  to  sleep. 
No  word  he  utters  ever  enters  deep, 

Or  makes  a  moment's  impress   on   her  heart, 
Except  "I  go,"  which  pierces  like  a  dart, 
And  sends  her  tumbling  helpless  in  a  heap. 

Her  soul's  wish  is  not  hard  to  satisfy; 

She   asks  him  not  to  win  a  victor's  crown, 
Instead  she  sets  a  simple  task  to  do; 

That  he  will  think  of  naught  save  her  alone, 
And  as  reward  she  lisps  eternally, 
"No  woman  else  could  half  as  much  love  you." 


IN   THE   BOUDOIR 

O  PRETTY  women,  were  ye  only  wise! 
Your  silks  and  scents    and  your  soft  little  lies 
Whispered  with  real  tears  standing  in  your  eyes 
Make  love  seem  more  than  costly  artifice. 

Your  tender  mouths  that  give  a  thousand  sighs 
Might  with  one  word  to  soaring  enterprise 
Inflame  a  man's  heart  till  he  touched  the  skies, 
O  pretty  women,  were  ye  only  wise! 


SILVER   WEDDING 

THE  marriage  vows  still  hold.     Love  grows  not  less. 
Hymen  has  triumphed.     We  are  closely  bound, 
And  find  in  compromise  a  meeting-ground. 
We  have  no  vulgar  difference  to  confess. 
But  of  the  golden  coins  our  souls  possess 
We  squander  every  penny  in  the  pound 
To  buy  this  stagnant  peace  that  wraps  us  round, 
And  fills  our  days  with  mordant   emptiness. 

This  is  the  tasteless  meat  and  acid  wine, 
Wherewith   we    celebrate   the   passing   years, 
While  grief  sits  guest  with  a  few  dried-up  tears. 

O  where  are  all  the  dreams  of  large  design? 

There   were   so   many, — and   we   worked  out  none! 
We  had  but  this  one  life — and  it  is  gone! 


21 


DIVORCE 

PITY  that  husband  rather  than  his  wife! 
Twofold   his  misery  who  would  be   free, 
While  hers  is  simply  fighting  a  decree 
That  will   divorce  them,  bed  and  board,   for  life. 
The  threat  to  part  is  like  a  keen-edged  knife, 
He  must  inflict  the  wound,  the  wounded  she; 
Yet  he  alone  deserves  your  sympathy, 
And  quite  one-sided  is  their  wedded  strife. 

For  though  her  tears  are  real  and  her  grief  deep 
She  still  seeks  some  one  when  she   tries  to  hold 

This  man  who  hates  her  in  her  arms'  embrace; 

While  he  strives  dumbly  merely  to  efface 
A  mocking  memory  that  doth  enfold, 

And  for  his  labours  loneliness  will  reap! 


22 


ADIEUX,  PANIERS,  VENDAGES  SONT  FAITES 

I  HAVE  no  wish  that  we  had  never  met, 
But  had  we  only  parted  long  ere  this, 
While  there  was  something  left  of  love  to  miss, 
And  golden  moments  we  would  not  forget. 
We  may  not  part  now;  we  are  in  a  net 
Woven  by  sodden  years  of  quarrel  and  kiss, 
And  from  each  other  no  escape  there  is, 
Nothing  but  stale  reproaches  and  regret! 

When  the  first  quarrel  came  it  seemed  like  a  jest, 
Our  hearts  were  fresh,  and  love  was  strange  and  new; 

Both  felt  deep  pain  because  the  other  cried, 
And,  laughing  then,  leaped  melting  breast  to  breast. 

Would  we  had  seen  the  wave  before  it  grew, 
And  said  farewell  while  still  we  might  with  pride! 


CETTE  MALADIE  QUI   S'APPELLE  LA  VIE 

FIVE  senses  to  enjoy  impulses  two, 
Hunger  and  love, — that  is  the  sum  of  life! 
We   spread   it   out   through   years   of   stress   and 

strife 

In  three  dimensions;  Adam  did  as  you. 
The  last  man  whose  heart  leaps   to   dare   and  do 
Will  hear  the  same  eternal  two-stop  fife 
That  shrilly  pipes  its  call  to  food  and  wife, 
And  aping  us  will  take  the  notes  for  new. 

We  only  fool  ourselves;  the  gods  above 
Smile  at  our  grave  pretense  of  being  gay. 

Our  struggle  to  ease  hunger  and  find  love 
Provides  for  heaven  a  most  amusing  play. 

The  bill  is  on  forever,  my  dear  friend, 
And  never  will  it  change  nor  ever  end! 


24 


SNOW  TOUCHING  WOMAN 


To 

Dewitt  Miller 


SNOW   TOUCHING  WOMAN 

AH,  you  came.     Let  my  man  have  your  coat, — 
Cold   out   tonight.      Well,   here's   an   open   grate 
And    a    soft    chair    that    offers   you    its    ease. 
Will  you  sit  down? — but,  first,  a  cigarette; 
There's    scotch   upon   the   table   when   you   wish. 

You  got  my  note?     Perhaps  you  thought  it  odd 
That  I  should  want  to  see  you  at  my  club? 
Yes,  it's  a  nice  club,  the  best  one  in  town, 
And  these  are  fair  apartments,  too,  in  fact. 

Come,  light  your  cigarette.    What,  not  sit  still? 

Ah,  then  you  do  know  why  I  sent  for  you? 

That's  just  as  well.     It  saves  us  idle  talk. 

My  wife  is  at  the  opera  tonight. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that,  of  course,  my  friend, 
For  we  both  know  a  place  is  saved  for  you 

In  the  same  box  which  holds  her  as  a  guest. 
What  makes  you  start?     Come,  don't  move  toward  the 
door. 

Sit  down  again  and  light  your  cigarette. 
That  we  both  know  just  makes  the  issue-point. 

You   are   her   lover  ...  ah!    damn   you,   don't   deny. 
Do  you  think  I'd  jest  about  my  wife's  fair  name? 

Last  night  as  I  came  down  the  hall  I  saw 
You  and  her  in  the  drawing-room.     You  planned 

Your  rendezvous.     Her  hand  was   on  your  sleeve; 
I  heard  her  murmur  you:  "Je  t'aime,  je  t'aime, 

And  you  will  hold  me  in  your  arms  again. 
Do  you  know  what  they  sing?    'Tis  Pagliacci,  love. 

You  are  my  Silvio;  I  your  bored  Nedda. 
I  will  be  sick,  and  we  can  leave  the  box; 

You  have  my  carriage  waiting;  once  inside, 
And  I  will  make  you  king  of  all  my  soul. 

We  can  have  hours  together  at  your  rooms — 
O  fill  them  up  with  roses  ere  I  come." 

Then   I   discreetly  coughed.     Sit  still,   I   say, 
And  don't  look  scared.     I  shall  not  shoot  you  down. 

I  tell  you  this  to  save  you  lies  to  me, 

27 


They  would  make  me  angry,  dropping  off  your  lips. 

I  much  prefer  a  quiet  hour's  talk, 
That  we  may  calmly   view  the   triangle. 

Now,  keep  your  temper;  you  have  much  to  gain. 
You  have  my  wife;  that's  something,  so  they  say; 

But  you  have  me  to  deal  with;  that's  too  bad. 
Here's  a  surprise!     'Twill  make  you  think  you  dream. 

I  will  not  stand  between  you  and  delight; 
Go  to  your  rendezvous;  then  plan  many  more; 

I  accept  the  liaison,  wish  you  great  joy, 
Agree  to  make  no  trouble,   if,  in  turn, 

You  keep  the  tongue  of  scandal  from  my  house, 
And  guard  my  honour  as  you  would  your  own, 

You  gentlemanly  guardian!     And,  too, 
Breathe  not  a  word  to  her  of  this  night's  talk. 

You  will  assent?     Ah,  you  are  very  kind.     Now  I, 
I  may  resume  the  smile  I  always  wear. 

That  was  a  deep  sigh  that  you  just  fetched  out; 

You  find  your  poise  again,  my  gallant  friend. 
And  did  you  think  that  I  would  knock  you  down 

Like  the  outraged  husbands  that  we  read  about 
In  our  morning  papers?     Pull  you  into  court, 

Name  you  as  co-respondent  for  divorce. 
And  then  leave  the  soiled  lady  on  your  hands? 

That  is  not  my  intention.     I'll  keep   her, 
With  your  leave,  of  course,  since  she  belongs  to  you. 

Now,  you  smile,  too,  a  smile  that  is  a  sneer; 
You  think  me  either  lacking  pride  or  weak? — 

Come,   come,   it   rather   galls,   you   must   admit, 
To  take  your  sneer,  yet  keep  my  own  gorge  down; 

However,    I    promised   you    immunity. 
Perhaps  I  take  this  course  to  shield  my  pride, 

Nor  let  the  whole  world  know  I  am  betrayed; 
Perhaps  I  once  did  care  for  her,  my  wife; 

Perhaps  I   once  did  promise  to   protect 
As  well  as  to  possess  her.     Still  you  smile? 

Well,  these  are  merely  topics  for  your  thoughts 
To  muse  upon  some  hour  you  wait  for  her. 

28 


You  would  divorce  her,  though,  now  would  you  not, 

If  you  found  her  tripping  toward  the  primrose  path? 
Yes,  and  so  would  every  lover  she  will  find. 

Born  a  coquette  she's  tinder  to  all   flames; 
She  likes  to  make  a  vow  of  constancy, 

And  how  she  means  it  when  it  leaves  her  lips! 
She  half  swoons  with  the  pureness  of  her  love; 

But  a  new  man  comes,  and  she  grows  warm  with  joy 
To  watch  him  drawing  nearer  to  her  lures. 

The  glove  is  thrown,  and  she  must  conquer  him; 
Her  life  hangs  in  the  balance  till  she  wins, 

And  his  flush  tells  afresh  her  potency. 
She's  not  unfaithful  to  you,  you're  forgot, — 

She  has  passed  on  to  a  new  life,  that's  all; 
The  latest  lover  gets  her  faithfulness. 

Yes,  frail  and  fair  and  false  she  is;  and  yet 
Even  the  coquette  has  her  right  to  live; 

But  not  with  me,  the  wiser  judgment  rules, 
Let  her  be  what  she  please,  but  not  hurt  me. 

Quite  so,  but  then,  you  see,   I   did  not  know 
When  I  made  her  my  wife  all  I  know  now. 

I  loved  not  many  women,  only  one, 
My  whole  heart's  want  became  centred  in  her, 

I   fairly  grovelled  at  her  worshipped  feet 
Because  she  chose  to  give  herself  to  me. 

And  the  fact  remains   I   am   her  husband  now, 
You  are  not  ....  so  you  do   not  understand. 

Suppose  I  did  divorce  her,  where's  the  gain? 
I  free  myself,  but  does  that  solve  it  all? 

And  would  that  sweep  away  the  marriage-wreck, 
Undo  the  past  that  saw  us  two  as  one? 

Ah,  don't  you  see? 

I  have  a  better  way! 
The  day  will  come  when  ennui  grips  her  heart, 

She  will  grow  sick  at  soul  of  fervid  words 
And  alien  arms  that  strain  to  fevered  breasts; 

A  twitching  wish  will  steal  into  her  brain — 
She  will  long  wildly  for  lost  purity, 

And  to  have  lived  a  life  of  wifeliness. 

29 


Merely  a  mood,  true,  of  her  jaded   sense, 

But  are  we  all  not  jaded  ere  we  die? 
Then  there  will  come  the  creeping  little  thought 

That  she  has  still  her  husband  and  her  home. 
It  will  amaze  her  by  its  novelty, 

And  frantically  she  will  run  to  me 
To  escape  the  ghosts  that  flock  out  of  the  past. 

Thus  she  gets  back.     'Tis  sordid,  so  you  think? 
But  now,  hear  how  my  plan  begins  to  move. 

As   soon  as   her  first  strangeness   wears   away, 
And  she  resumes  an  even  mind  once  more, 

Pity  will  be  her  feeling  toward  me, 
Pity  because  I  have  been  so  deceived, 

So  blind  to  what  struck  at  my  manhood's  pride; 
But  not  for  long,  slowly  'twill   dawn  on   her 

That  I  have  known  her  infidelity. 
The  thought  will  stun  her;  she  will  blindly  grope 

To  find  an  answer  to  the  mystery — 
Why  having  known  did  I  not  thrust  her  forth? 

And  then  a  flash  will  leap  from  nothingness, 
"He  knew  that   I   should  need  him  at  the  end." 

Crash !  she  goes  tumbling  crushed  with  sense  of  shame, 
The  final  flicker  of  her  coquetry. 

When  she  gets  up  she  sees  with  clear-eyed  gaze 
What  sort  of  man  she  first  gave  herself  to. 

And  a  respect  that  is  both  love  and  awe 
Will  grow  within  her;  she  will  look  on  me 

As  a  young  bride  regards  the  man   she  wives 
When  she  begins  to  grasp  his  inmost  self, 

And  feels  before  him  a  humility. 
Real  man  and  wife  at  last!     But  late,  indeed. 

Small  victory  in  that,  you  interpose, 
With  life  all  gone.     Yet  it  is  victory! 

For  I  have  made  life  sweet  again  by  force. 

She  will  be  shriveled,  does  that  matter  much? 

I   am  quite  proof  against  physical   pain, 
I  care  not  for  her  lips  you  find  so  sweet, — 

You  will  despise  them  in  a  year,  perhaps, 
And  they  will  so  despise  you  afterwhile — 

30 


But  I  care  that  she  see  the  difference 
Between    my    manhood    and    your    gallantry, 

That  she  long  after  her  own  self-respect, 
Which  she  had  flung  away  and  I  picked  up. 

Thus  I  am  bound  to  conquer  at  the  end; 
While  one  holds  fast  no  house  can  wholly  fall, 

She  may  not  stumble  to  a  tragedy; 
Is  that  not  something  for  a  graveyard  crown? 

Ah!  there  strikes  eight  o'clock.     Now  you  must  go. 

A  pretty  woman  does  not  like  to  wait. 
Your  hat  and  coat, — and  a  libretto,  too; 

'Tis  Pagliacci,  read  it  on  the  way. 


CLOUDS  FLYING  ACROSS  THE  DARK 


To 

Edwin  Arlington  Robinson 


SOUVENIR 

THE  lovers  have  come  and  now  are  gone, 
And  never  a  lover  stayed  with  me; 
Yet  I  drop  no  tears  as  I  sit  alone, 
For  I  loved  so  much  that  I  set  each  free, 
I  held  not  one  of  them  for  my  own. 

Straight  toward  the  stars  love  lured  my  flight, 

Heart's  desire  hidden  out  of  sight, 

Lip's  thirst,  soul's  hunger  killed  outright. 

Real  and  rich  was  my  love's  way, 

To   befriend,   defend,   blend   and   bend, 
Tend  and  mend,  spend,  yea,  and  lend, 

And  when  the  day  or  the  year  had  an  end 
Send  him  away  with  no  price  to  pay, 
With  a  few  words  spoken  soft  and  gay. 

And   my  lovers   for   this 

Kind  ultimate  kiss, 
They  all  will  love  me  for  eternity, 

O  cold  caress  of  irony! 
That  I  gave  my  love  keeps  me  aglow, 
And  yet, — I  would  it  were  not  so; 
I  would  that  one  had  refused  to  go! 


35 


SILHOUETTE 

HE  will  deny  it,  but  he  would  be  gone, 
Of  all  women  I  am  the  most  alone; 
Men  die  and  leave  their  wives  to  widowhood, 
But  at  the  worst  death  can  be  understood, 
They  have  a  coffined  corpse  on  which  to  brood; 
While   I    have  nothing  but  my  sense  of  fear, 
For  still  my  husband  lives,  he  is  still  here, 
And  yet  I  know  the  end  of  love  is  near. 

He  has  not  told  me  that  he  will  forsake, 
Not  for   cruel  blows  my  heart  and  body  ache; 
He  kisses  me  and  plays  with  my  black  hair, 
And  with  a  tender  breath  says  I  am  fair, 
And  yet, — and  yet  I  know  he  does  not  care. 
No  man  could  be  more  kind  than  he  to  me, 
But  every  smile  is  a  hard  mockery, 
Because  within  his  heart  he  would  be  free! 

I  cannot  puzzle  out  this  mystery, — 
Just  one  short  year  ago  I  was  his  bride; 
He  caught  me  up  and  placed  me  at  his  side, 
His  wish  to  have  was  not  to  be  denied. 
Why  he  has  ceased  to  love  I  do  not  know, 
I  never  loved  him  then  as  I  love  now; 
More  wildly   dear  he  grows  each   day  to  me, 
While  he  now  longs  to  leave  me  utterly. 

Could  I  but  solve  the  reason  I  would  bear 
Whatever   woe   may   come;    but   my   despair 
Is  not  to  know,  only  to  feel  farewell 
Whene'er  he  lets  his  eyes  upon  me  dwell, 
For  deeply  hidden  in  those  ice-grey  eyes, 
Weary  with  flaming  in  their  yesterwise, 
A   half-veiled  look  of  pity   I   surprise. 


JADIS   ET   NAGUERE 


W 


HEN   disillusionment  was   fiercely  new 

I  wildly  prayed  at  night  upon  my  knees 
That  I  might  cease  to  care  he  was  untrue. 


My  heart  was  bursting  with  love's  agonies; 

I  longed  for  a  numbed  sense  to  ease  my  pain, 
And  a  dull  sleep  to  still  my  soul's  lorn  cries. 

I  said  unto  my  soul: — This  grief  must  wane, 

And  bring  dumb  hours  when  thou  wilt  feel  naught, 
Except  that  the  days  pass  in  endless  train. 

I  did  not  know  at  what  a  price  I  sought 

To  buy  escape.     But  now  I  know  full  well 
How  bitter  is  the  peace  that  I  have  bought. 

With  husband  here  I  am  content  to  dwell, 

And  he  has  not  changed;  still  untrue  he  is, 
And  yet  no  hot  wrath  makes  my  heart  rebel. 

My  depth   of  degradation   is   in   this, — 
That  I  feel  lonely  when  he  is  away, 
And  when  he  returns  thrill  under  his  kiss! 


37 


AGNES  THORPE  SPEAKS 


To 

Louise  Jewell  Manning-Hicks 


AGNES   THORPE   SPEAKS 

YOU  wonder,  you  who  were  his  friend,  why  I 
Who  am  so  small  was  chosen  as  a  mate 
By  him  who  was  a  giant  among  men. 
We  both  know  how  the  world  rings  with  his  name,- 
The  architect,  who  forced  the  age  to  change 

And  bow  before  the  things  he  built  in  stone, 
Give  up  their  worship  of  the   commonplace, 

And  take  his  fresh  fair  beauties  in  its  stead. 
He   had  his   whole   profession's   enmity, 

And  yet  he  conquered  them  and  stood  their  peer 
At  two  and  thirty  when  death  interposed. 

Recall  I  was  his  mistress,  not  his  wife. 

He  did  not  choose  me.     It  was  I  chose  him. 
He  never  asked  nor  begged  me  join  his  side, 

He  did  not  lay  his  soul  within  my  hands 
Because  he  felt  that  I  would  nourish  it; 

'Twas  I  who  clasped  my  hands  about  his  soul, 
And  would  not  let  it  go. 

I  met  him  first  o'er  tea-cups  one  fall  dusk 

In  London  when  his  star  had  yet  to  rise. 
I   heard  him  talk;   that  was   enough  for  me. 

I  knew  that  I  had  stumbled  on  my  god> 
If  only  I  could  find  the  way  to  him. 

For  six  months  how  I  watched  him  as  I  could, 
And  all  the  while  became  more  sure  of  him, 

Sure  I  did  want  him  of  all  men  on  earth. 
From  house  to  house  I  tracked  my  lover  down, 

And  gloried  as  he  grew  in  size  for  me; 
He  promptly  would  forget  I  did  exist 

Between  the  meetings;  in  each  drawing-room 
The  hostess  must  present  him  me  afresh. 

My  face  he  watched  a  moment,  then  his  gaze 
Passed  over  and  beyond  me  far  away. 

I  did  not  mind,  for  I  laughed  in  my  heart 
To  see  so  clearly  where  my  life  joy  lay. 

'Twas  easy  quite  to  see  him,  but  to  reach 

41 


And  grasp  him  was  a  different  sort  of  task. 
I  made  him  like  me  for  a  hundred  traits, 
He  could  not  help  it,  for  I  laboured  so; 
I  saw  he  even  loved  me  in  his  heart — 
Ah,  but  his  will  took  hold  and  crushed  his  heart, 

It  had  not  one  chance  in  the  world  to  rule, — 
'Twas  written  on  him  that  he  had  no  faith 

In  me  or  in  my  strength  to  second  him 
Through  the  wild  strivings  to  attain  his  ends. 

And  then  he   would  not  be  a   slave  to  love, 
He  would  not  waste  his  life-flame  on  a  woman, 

But  hoard  it  for  the  temples  he  must  build. 
He  would  have  none  of  me  his  judgment  spake; 

Ay,  but  you  shall  take  all  I  flashed  him  back. 
Oh,  what  a  burning  scorn  was  in  his  eyes, 

He  would  not  bend  nor  bow  to  Aphrodite; 
Now,  this  was  what  I  saw,  not  what  he  said, 

His  words  were  gracious  and  his  manner  kind, 
But  just  the  same  I  knew  his   inner  thought. 

I  had  not  much  to  hope  on,  did  I,  friend? 
Do  you  think  that  stopped  me?     Not  one  bit  of  it. 

I  loved  him  more  for  his  contempt  for  me. 
Do  you  know  what  I  did?     'Tis  dangerous 

To  tell — it  may   disgust  your  finer   sense, 
And  you  may  think  I  was  a  shameless  woman. 

I   did   as   they  do,   bold   and   shamelessly; 
I  lured  him  with  my  body, — how  it  sang 

Its  bride-chant  till  it  fired  the  veins  of  him 
To  bursting,  and  he  could  but  open  arms. 

Once  well  inside  them  I  knew  I  had  won; 
Yet  ere  he  kissed  me  to  a  breathless  pause 

I   made   a  silent  vow   unto   myself 
That  if  I  ever  saw  I  hampered  him 

Even  though  it  killed  me  I  would  set  him  free; 
Thus  I  became  his  mistress — at  my  wish. 

For  me  life  was  not  a  soft  sinking  swoon, 
With  all  the  senses  singing,  drowned  in  bliss; 

The  joy  I  had  I  built  up  bit  by  bit 
By  the  hard  labour  of  my  heart  and  brain; 

42 


And  what  a  joy  it  was,  unique,  sublime! 

Love  was  not  a  fair  palace  of  delight, 
Hedged  round  and  hidden  from  the  hateful  world; 

Love  was  long  years  spent  in  the  midst  of  things, 
Filth,  hurts  and  hungers  were  the  frame  it  had. 

I  did  not  have  my  lover  to  myself, 
He  stood  out  in  the  market-place,  and  fought 

With  the  blind  mob  to  get  their  tight-clutched  gold 
To  rear  his  marble  temples  for  their  souls. 

My  will  and  wishes  had  to  bow  before 
The  cruel  exactions  of  the  piles  of  stone 

Before  they  rose  in   graceful  symmetry. 
But  since  he  sacrificed  his  will  to  them 

Why  not  mine  too?    Ah,  but  'twas  hard  to  learn; 
I  had  to  think  always  before  I  spoke, 

Weigh  what  I  did,  keep  the  great  end  in  mind 
Through  every  moment  of  the  livelong  day, 

And   harmonize   my   soul  to  its   demands; 
From  morn   to   night  ever  alert  to  know 

At  the  right  moment  the  intangible 
One  thing  my  lord  found  missing  in  himself,— 

And  needed  as  a  dying  man  needs  breath, 
Know  ere  he  knew  it,  and  supply  it  then 

To  help  him  to  triumphant  mastery. 
To  always  know  was  difficult  enough, 

But  to  supply  it  from  my  woman's  self 
At  a  second's  notice  whatever  it  was, 

My  friend,  it  often  put  me  on  the  rack; 
Life  seemed  to  lose  its  spontaneity, 

And   I  felt  like  a  fawning  hypocrite. 
For  flesh  and  blood  is  only  flesh  and  blood, 

The  brain  gets  tired,  the  will  grows  fagged  and  worn; 
And  yet  by  slow  degrees  I  learned  and  learned, 

I  saw  my  tree  of  knowledge  bearing  fruit; 
As  I  made  headway  how  my  soul  grew  big, 

Until  at  last  the  perfect  hour  was  come. 
I  gave  him  back  the  rib  God  took  from  him 

To  fashion  me, — he  was  whole  man  again. 
Do  you  not  think  I  then  felt  like  a  queen. 

Tall  as  the  great  king  that  I  stood  beside? 

43 


In  idle  moments  when  my  eyes  surveyed 

The  soaring  structures  that  his  genius  built 
I  too  with  pride  saw  my  own  part  in  them. 

The  last  and  crowning  beauty  he  achieved 
Existed  because  I,  I  had  been  there 

To  hold  him  up  at  the  supreme  crisis; 
His   gladness   was   not   deeper  than   my   own, 

His  hands  had  done  it,  but  mine  had  held  his. 

Within  my  breast  I  had  a  soul  in  bud 

Which  might  have   grown   into  a  perfect   flower 
Had   it  been   tended,   watered,    helped   to    grow. 

Mine  were  the  hands  to  do  this,  with  God's  aid, 
Or  with  the  man's,  if  his  eye  caught  the  bud 

And  liked  it  well  enough  to  make  it  open. 
Instead  I  went  into  his  garden-close, 

The  man's,  and  found  him  watering  his  flowers; 
He  did  not  have  a  drop  to  spare  for  mine, 

And  quick  I  saw  he  needed  that  I  had 
To  bring  his  roses  to  a  perfect  bloom. 

And  so  I  stayed  letting  my  blossom  die, — 
Ah,  I  did  well,  mine  was  a  single  blossom, 

While  here  around  me  was  a  garden  full. 
And  best  of  all,  the  roses  richer  bloomed, 

More   of   them   and   more    crimson,    with    my   care 
Than  if  he  had  been  gardener  alone. 

I  proved  my  woman's  wisdom  by  my   choice — 
Think  what  new  fragrance  came  into  the  world 

By  the  small  sacrifice  of  one  white  bud. 

He  had  a  way  of  thundering  forth:  "I  will 

In  spite  of  all  men  do  this  thing  I  wish!" 
That  made  it  seem  the  last  word  tongue  could  speak, 

As  for  the  deed  it  was  as  well  as  done. 
Yet  in  his  heart  he  never  was  so  sure, 

He  seldom  saw  the  path  before  him  clear, 
It  was  his  will  that  carried  him  along; 

I  learned  this,  and  I  found  the  part  to  play; 
When  he  had  spoken  then  began  my  work,— 

To  give  his  tone  in  answer  back  to  him, 


44 


Keep  the  words  ringing  bravely  in  his  ear, 

Confound   him   with   belief  when   he   had    doubt, 

Add  my  will  to  his  own  when  his  was  worn, 
Until  he  staggered  breathless  to  the  goal. 

To  keep  him  mine  I  knew  that  I  must  be 

The  rarest  jewel  of  all  womanhood; 
Were  there  another  finer  than  myself 

To  help  him  with  his  temples  I  must  go; 
I  saw  this  clearly,  though  he  said  it  not; 

His  deep  eternal  instinct  for  the  best 
In   everything  would  judge  and   cast   me  off. 

When  this  thought  came  upon  me — ah!  I  quaked 
For  a  little  minute.     'Tis  no  pleasant  thing 

To  realize  that  one  is  fighting  lone 
Against  her  entire  sex  for  him  she  loves; 

But  only  for  a  moment  did  I  fear, 
For  then  my  heart  said: — I  shall  vanquish  them, 

Because  I  love  him  as  no  other  could, 
And  so  will  work  the  hardest  to  keep  him. 

And  at  that  instant  how  I   seemed  to   see 
Millions  of  women  there  before  his  eyes, 

Each   ready  to  become   his   if  he   chose, 
I  against  all,  and  yet  I  trembled  not, 

For  somehow  I  was  certain  each  would  fail; 
What  could  they  do  that  I  with  love  and  will 

To  help  my  powers  could  not  better  do? 

Whenever  any  woman  pleased  my  lord 

By  an  odd  charm  of  body,  voice  or  mind 
You  may  be  sure  I  studied  patiently 

Till  I  had  seized  the  secret  of  her  spellj 
Then  steal  it  from  her,  plant  it  in  myself 

That  he  I  loved  might  the  possessor  be. 
So  with  a  little  insight  and  much   thought 

T  gathered  up  a  host  of  human  things 
With  which  a  woman  may  delight  a  man, — 

They  are  so  simple  and  they  are  so  sweet. 
I  had  my  twofold  reason; 

First,  I  could  share  him  with  his  ambition, 

45 


But  not  an  instant  could  I  bear  to  feel 
Another  might  afford  more  joy  than  I; 

And  then  the  second  reason, — since  he  was 
As  faithful  unto  me  as  I  to  him 

It   scarce   seemed   fair   to   his   man's   steadfastness 
That  I  should  not  move  heaven  and  earth  to  give 

Him  in  return  the  uttermost  loveliness. 

Never   was   I   chased,   captured,   kissed,    caressed 

Until  my  woman's  heart   was  bursting  glad 
Because  the  man  I  loved  did  want  me  so. 

Pride  in  me  never  shone  out  from  his  eyes, 
He  often  scarcely  knew  I  was  at  hand; 

I  could  not  make  believe  to  run  away 
Sure  in  the  knowledge  he  would  follow  me, 

And   so  be  wooed  and  won  over  again. 
Had  I  called: — Come  and  catch  me,  if  you  can, 

He  would  have  faced  about  and  walked  away. 
It  was  his  nature.     That  I  knew  at  first. 

He  would  not  hold  me  fast  within  his  arms, 
Swearing  to  die  ere  he  would  give  me  up; 

That  triumph  girls'  hearts  long  for  was  not  mine. 
Mine  was  to  cling  and  hold  him,  and  I  did, 

Which  was   the   greater  triumph. 

I  made  my  body  play  its  royal  part 

In  queenly  service  for  him.     He  was  blind 
Toward  the  elemental  beauty  of  our  lives; 

Despite   his   subtle  mind  he   did   not  know 
That  all  begins  and  ends  in  one  thing — sense. 

Yes,  and  that  our  souls  only  live  and  grow 
When  we  are  kind  and  tender  to  the  flesh. 

For  him  the  kiss  and  the  full  rush  of  warmth 
That  floods  the  body  with  a   speechless  joy 

Seemed  not  the  priceless  heaven-sent  gift  of  God. 
Ah,  but  I  pulled  him  down  within  my  arms, 

And  made   him   take   love's   clear   fresh   balminess 
Until  he  was  renewed  and  strong  again. 

Between  my  breasts  he  buried  his   defeats, 
And  for  the  moment  thought  of  naught  but  me. 

46 


How  he  resented  that  I  pulled  him  down, 
Fought  against  listening  to  my   siren   song! 

I  never  could  convince  him   I  was  right, 
I  do  believe  he  hated  me  at  times 

Because   I  had  that  power  over  him. 
He  did  not  see  I  used  it  for  his  good. 

I  kept  my  body  exquisite  for  him, 
And  danced  for  hours  on  end  to  charm  his  eyes 

Until  he  had  forgot  his  shattered  hopes 
In  crying  hunger  for  the  pulsing  me, 

And  then — and  then   I   fed  him. 
These  little  hands,  these  feet,  my  lips,  mine  eyes, 

And  all  the  rest  of  me  that  hidden  is 
Were  used  by  me  to  minister  to  him. 

I  was  his  grateful  cup  of  golden  wine, 
And  when  he  drank  I  cooled  his  aching  throat. 

Each  night  I  made  the  morrow  possible. 
Often   I  lay  along  his   side 

When    he   was    nearly    dead   with    weariness 
From  head  to  foot  just  softly  touching  him, 

Then  he  would  fall  asleep. 

Now  he  is  dead,  and  I  am  left  alone 

At  six  and  twenty  with  a  life  to  lead 
On,  on  without  him!     Bridges  burned  behind! 

I  cannot  now  return  to  my  old  friends, 
When   I   went  forth  with  him  that  finished  me; 

The  ship  I   gladly  sailed  on  is  a  wreck, 
And    I    am   cast   upon    a   mid-sea   isle 

Without  a  hope  of  rescue. 
Do  I  regret?     Yes,  day  and  night  I  do, — 

That  I   had  but  one  heart   to  love  him  with, 
One  brain  to  think  out  what  he  wanted  most, 

One  life  to  give  him — ah!  I  would  that  I 
Had  been  possessed  a  thousand  times  more  youth, 

More  strength,  more  beauty  to  have  poured  out  all, 
All  prodigally  for  his  single  use. 

That  is  the  answer  I  send  up  to  God! 
47 


EPITHALAMIES 


To 

Leah  Winslow 


KISSES   OF  ICE 


T 


HIS  midnight  stillness  warms  earth's  frozen  veins, 

Now  at  her  drained  heart  the  blood  is  stung; 
The  wild  wind-waves  that  ravage  the  bare  plain 
Are  tender  to  the  queen  no  longer  young, 
Over  her  gaunt  frame  like  sheets  of  flame  are  flung. 

And  she  whose  brow  was  aged  ere  time  began 
Close  at  her  heart  still  feels  love-longing  ache; 

No  cry  escapes  her  stiff  lips  drawn  and  wan, 

Though  with   the   cold  the   shivering  forests   quake, 
In  her  vast  dream  her  woes  her  empire  make. 

The  hard  white  grass  cuts  into  her  pale  cheek, — 
'Tis  joy  to  feel  the  sharp  quick  lashes  sting! 

A  blissful  bride  suddenly  awed  and  meek, 
Lost  in  the  mazes  of  her  wondering 
That  love  should  whisper  half  so  sweet  a  thing! 

Out  of  the  north  there  comes  a  breath  of  ice, 
Its  kisses  bathe  my  naked  panting  breast; 

And  slim  hands  mingle  with  the  fall  and  rise, 
Marking  the  seething  of  my  soul's  unrest, 
While   long   lithe    arms    have   fellowship    confessed. 

Tumultuously  round  me  they  have  wround 
With  ichor  throbbing  in  their  gleaming  white; 

A  low  clear  voice  utters  seraphic  sound, 
Exalted   harmonies    of   fearless    flight 
Rhapsodic  to  the  far  Elysian  light. 

Through   the   long  night   I   have   stood   worshipping 
With   numbed   limbs   against   her   icy   gown. 

The  flawless  fulness  of  her  murmuring 

Startles   the   silence  with   its   god-like   tone, 
Rushes  of  life  about  my  brow  are  blown. 

Oracular   the   music   of   my  bride, 

Austerely   chanting  love  ineffable; 
And  calm  and  free  and  full  flowed  in  the  tide, 

Which  caught  and  held  us  in  its  sea-spun  spell: 

Glad  glimpses  of  the  unattainable! 

Si 


MORNING:    REVEALMENT 

MORNING'S  quick  steps  fly  o'er  the  pallid  ground — 
Yet  O  the  tire  which  soars  within  my  soul! 
I  feel  transparent  against  the  world  around, 
Though  from  the  hills  their  dusk  veils  backward  roll, 
And  the  young  moon  hath  well  nigh  reached  her  goal. 

Sweep  on,  O  straining  firm-limbed  silver  girl! 
Virginal  victress  in  thy  first  love-quest, 

Serenely   sailing  mid  the  mad  star  whirl, 
Now  calmly  sinking  in  the   slumbrous  west, 
After  love's   dalliance   soft  will   be   thy  rest. 

Lo!  in  the  east  there  is  arisen  fair 
A  marvellous  star  whose  crystal  purity 

Hurls  maiden  might  against  the   warring  air; 
And  throned  alone  in  matchless  majesty 
Holds  o'er  the  land  her  girlish  empery. 


CUP   OF   WINE:   RECOGNITION 

WILT  thou  go  forth  and  see  the  dawn  with  me, — 
Drink   from   the   goblet   flushed   with   crimson 
wine; 

With    clasped    hands    confessing    wordlessly 
The  love  which  should,  yet  cannot  make  thee  mine, 
And  ever  keeps  my  eyes  from  seeking  thine? 

I  know  we  cannot  be  together  long, 
Yet  on  the  silence  of  the  chastened  air 

Let  us  lift  up  our  voices  loud  and  strong, 
A  song  to  love,  which  only  we  may  dare 
Who  know  that  in  that  love  we  may  not  share. 

O  highest  reaches  of  the  heart  of  man 
When   love  hath   stood  forth  naked,  without  flaw! 

O    glory   of   the   life    Promethean 

When  self  hath  sunk  away  in  breathless  awe! 
What  can  we  not  do — for  we  felt,  we  saw? 

If  we  who  know  how  much  life  has  to  give 
Could  only  barter  both  our  lives  away 

That  all  might  know, — and  then  awake  to  live 
On  the  fair  dawning  of  another  day, 
Alas,  my  longing  leads  me  far  astray! 

0  peerless  bride,  my  love  is  nothing  small, 

I  could  not  meet  thy  eyes'  frank  level  gaze, 
And  not  feel  braver  than  to  flee  fate's  call, 
Though  she  lead  down  through  melancholy  ways, 
Thy  love  must  give  peace  to  the  dolorous  days. 

1  do  not  think  I   do  thee  injury, 

Though   thou   may'st   to   another   now  belong; 
I  could  not  even  speak  the  name  of  thee 
To  whom  my  lips  have  offered  up  this   song, 
Surely  in  song  love  may  mount  clear  and  strong. 

53 


And  I  am  glad  thou  hast  no  thought  of  me, 

Since  we  could  naught,  only  let  weak  tears  flow; 

That  all  my  joy  lies  in  my  love  of  thee 

I  would  rather  that  thou  shouldst  never  know 
Than  that  ever  my  lips  should  tell  thee  so! 

Once  and  once  only  heard  I  thy  low  voice, 
And  then  our  words  were  wed  over  Sydney's  fame, 

That  purest  soul  that  took  its  uttermost  joys 
In    poignant    plaints    unto    a    star-lit    name, 
O  that  my  song  might  grace  thee  with  the  same! 

That  once  thy  voice  broke  silence  is  enough; 

My   body   quivered   echo   to   each   word, 
I  stood  overpowered  by  the  breath  of  love, 

And  grew  more  faint  at  each  new  sound  uttered; 

It  was  like  pain;  I  fled — no  more  I  heard. 


54 


ON   HIGH    HILLS:   WINDS'   WAR 

LIFE  is  too  large,  too  wide  and  manifold 
For  any  man   to   shape   its   countenance. 
We  count  as  nothing,  love,  we  cannot  hold 
The  tireless  young  limbs  from  the  swooning  dance; 
Let  us  be  glad  they  may  have  such  pleasance. 

But  finer  far  will  be  our  joy,  pur  doom, 
Ecstatic  crucifixion  for  mankind! 

When   groping  in   the   sunless   fields   of  gloom, 

Splashed  with  white  light  love's  crystal  we  shall  find, 
The   unconquerable   empire   of  the  mind! 

For  shall  we  not  be  climbers  of  high  hills, 
Deserted  ere  half  the  ascent  is  made! 

Shall  we  not  feel  those  sheer  immortal  thrills 
Dart  through  our  bodies,  with  the  winds'  war  swayed, 
And  look  upon  the  sun's  face  unafraid? 

Shall  we  not  give  our  heart-beats  one  by  one 

For  the  great  thirst  while  fate  around  us   clings; 

Shall  we  not  think  we  well  life's  web  have  spun 
When  at  the  last  eternal  beauty  springs 
From  out  the  chaos  at  the  core  of  things! 

My  flood  of  joy  has  touched  the  heaven  of  song, 
I  at  the  altar  stand  the  boyish  priest; 

We  two  alone  of  all  the  silent  throng 
Bid  to  the  rapture  of  this  fair  love-feast 
Set  in  the  garden  of  the  bridal  east. 

O  trembling  girl,  I  feel  thy  hands  and  hair, 
Thy  blinding  kisses  hide  thy  face   from  me, 

Life  leaps  out  to  us  with  one  glad  full  flare, 
A  golden  calm  kneels  to  us:  we  are  free! 
Free,  and  yet  bound  fast  for  eternity! 

55 


O  wondrous  woof  woven  in  the  warp  of  fate! 
Triumphant    calm    will    hymn    thy    sun's    eclipse, 

Too  gloriously  glad  for  any  mate, 

When  into  the  swart  night  thy  stark  form  slips, 
One  last  paganic   paean  on   thy  lips! 

Sometimes  the  knife  of  anguish   pierces  thee, 
Overwhelmed  art  thou;  alone  who  can  prevail? 

Then   uttermost   thou  a   tone  more   piteously 
Than   ever  moaned  the  grieving  nightingale, 
Sadder  to  me  than  silence  is  thy  wail. 

Yet  in  that  wail  lies  the  one  happiness 

Which   I,  beloved,   cannot   share  with   thec; 

Gladly    I  take  this   dusk   of  vast  distress 
Knowing  that   thou   too  watchest   constantly, 
But  thou,  alas,  hast  no  such  thought  of  me. 

O    sainted   dreamer  of  high    human    dreams! 

0  wondrous  voice  of  liquid  clarity 
Crystalline  as   the   drippings   of  cool    streamsl 

All  that  my  soul  hath  even  hope  to  be 

1  owe  to  thee,  beloved,  owe  to  thee! 


VIRGIN    MOODS 

MAD  with  life  surging  through   my  pulsing  frame 
My   heedless   soul   would  brook   nor   bond   nor 
thrall; 
A   spirit-drunkenness,   leaping   like   flame, 

Coursed   through   me   like    wild    snatches   lyrical, 
When  my  ears  caught  the  far-off  wonder-call. 

The  western  hills  breathed  out  the  infinite, 
Luminous   glowing,   clad  in   garbs  of  gold; 

The  blue  mist  of  the  valley  deepened  it; 

The  wonder  sound  my  young  heart  could  not  hold, 
I  burned  to  see  the  unknown  fields  unfold. 

I  might  have  wandered  through   eternity, 

Nor  ever  found  the  thing  for  which   I   sought, 

For  vague  desires  lured  me  on  cruelly; 
I  only  felt  a  longing  fever-fraught. 
Elusive  as  the  shadow  of  a  thought. 

Long  had  I  writhed  under  the  deadly  goad, 
Blindly  my  eyes  sought  the  invisible. 

Sometimes  my  thoughts  would  leave  the  bitter  road 
Yet  oftener  my  fears  I  could  not  quell, 
I  seemed  to  conquer,  but  I  always  fell. 

I  never  knew  how  deep  my  misery 
Till  thy  form  slipped  between  me  and  my  fall. 

Thy  mild  grey  eyes  gazed  at  me  tenderly. 
Within  their  depths  love  lay  dissolving  all, 
And  then  I  knew  and  claimed  thee  virginal. 

Up  from  the  nadir  I  have  mounted  strong, 
Fleeter  than  flight  of  a  swift-rushing  wind, 

Seeking  the  music  of  a  mighty  song; 

For  with  thy  love  how  could  I  fail  to  find 
The  song  that  will  liberate  all  mankind! 


57 


IMMORTAL   MAIDEN-MOTHER 

O  AWFUL  terror  of  sublimity 
When  one  alone  sways  in  the  dizzy  air, 
And  knows  no  eyes  can  see  true  victory 
But  his  whose  soul  is  large  enough  to  bear 
The  sight  of  the  whole  world  below  him  there! 

I  would  rather  be  a  beggar  than  a  king, 
What   joy   is  there  in   mere   supremacy? 

If  too  exulting   e'er   I    seem   to    sing, 

Tis  not  through  love  of  my  own  majesty, 
But   that   I   may   enthrone   all   men   with   me. 

That  man  may  feel  his  own  divinity, 

For  fame  itself  would  be  too  mean  a  thing 

To  offer  one  who  has  known  the  love  of  thee. 
I  should  rather  hear  thy  soft  lips  murmuring 
Than  the  loud  praise  a  thousand  years  could  bring. 

Life  does  seem  hollow  when  comes  the  dim  thought, 
Though   I   should  live  forever  'twould  not  bring 

Nearer  one  step  thee  whom  long  I   have  sought; 
My  bridal   the  one   song — the   wondrous   thing 
I   could  sing  sweetest — I   shall  never  sing. 

That   I  must   do   I  but  begin   to   trace, 
Yet  I  feel  I  have  lived  a  lifetime  now; 

As    when    worlds    crack    and    crashing    scream    through 

space 

It  crushes,  overwhelms  my  pallid  brow, 
To  the  world's  heart  I  must  get,  blow  by  blow. 

And  should   I  fail  I  only  hope  that  I 

May  calmly,  bravely  turn  to  meet  death's  thong; 

Fearless  as  I  would  live  so  would  I  die, 
Finding  my  joy  that  life  endured  so  long, 
And  that  the  best  of  life  is  sung  in  song. 

58 


And  we   can   always   shut  the  temple   gate, 
And   view   without    the   blue   sea   hyaline; 

No  clamor  then   could  make  us  less  elate, 
Nor  rob  us  of  our  vestiture  divine, 
When  we  have  kissed  life's  lips  at  her  pure  shrine. 

Not  that  I  care,  for  that  were  vanity, 
To  think  to  sit  the  greater  men  among, 

But  then  unknown  this  grand  life  victory 
Unless  my  voice  cleave  through  the  stillness  strong, 
I  cannot  but  be  sacrificed  to  song. 

Yet  what  were  a  more  joyous  sacrifice, — 
O   I  would  die  a  thousand  deaths  for  thee! 

The  pangs  of  pain  would  be  a  paradise 
Drawn  out  through  aeons  of  eternity, 
Immortal   maiden-mother,    Poetry! 


59 


GOLDEN   JOY   OF   JUNE 

THIS  passing  hour  which  we  have  given  to  love 
Hath    wrested    from    fate's    hands    her    fairest 
boon; 

From  out  December's  pallid  grey  it  wove 
The  glittering  gorgeous   golden  joy   of  June, 
Look,  love,  and  live, — for  it  will  fade  too  soon! 

Dost  thou  not  hear  that  velvet  summer  sigh 
That  falls  and  faints  upon  the  muted  air? 

A  whisper  now  would  burst  eternity, 
A  flame  flares  in  the  east  too  bright  to  bear, 
Behold  the  face  of  life,  and  O  how  fair! 

For  us  unfolded  is  a  paradise, 
The  wan  west  pales  before  the  snowy  light 

Of  marble   pillars   lifted   in   the    sky; 
The  temple   dazzles  with  dawn's    golden   might, 
And  wears  as  crown  the  last  star  of  the  night. 

Illimitable  lies   the  girdling  plain 

Around  this  world  of  stone;  a  waving  wall 

Of  field  on  field  of  pale-green  half-grown  grain, 
Which  soon  will  yellow  for  the  hunger-call, 
The  first-fruits  of  the  fulness  of  the  fall! 

Far  in  the  west  clouds'  fleece  rests  on  the  hills, 
And  through   a  gorge  there  steals  a  sleepy  stream. 

Its  murmur  now  the  peaceful  stillness  fills 
With  the  vague  languor  of  its  morning  dream, 
And  on  its  breast  it  wears  the  first  sun-gleam. 

Circling  the  temple  with  a  crystal  zone 

The  stream  winds  on  without  the  slightest  sound; 
From  the  broad   steps  clear  morn-dew   drips   adown, 
The  stream  hath  gently  kissed  each  thing  it  found 
On  its  long  journey  for  loud  ocean  bound. 

60 


Long  lawny  sweeps  of  smooth  green  hide  each  bank. 
And  backward  creep  within  the  quivering  wheat; 

Tall   leafy   silver   poplars   stand   in   rank, 
With  pale  narcissi  dreaming  at  their  feet, 
And   water-lilies    haunt   this    cool   retreat. 

Clear  from  thy  brow  thy  heavy  fragrant  hair, 
Throw  free  thy  throat's  white  wondrous  purity; 

Let  thy  fair  body  taste  this  blissful  air, 

And  claim   this   proud   demesne   imperiously, 
O  girl,  take  thou  this  June  day's  gift  to  thee. 


61 


MOONLIGHT   VIOLINS 

TONIGHT  the  moon  comes  forth  without  a  veil, 
The   stars  guarding  her   silver  nakedness. 
Their  lustre  will  with  wan  fatigue  grow  pale, 
While  one  long  week  she  lies  in  June's  caress, 
Soul   swooning  with   her   fragrant   loveliness. 

Out  to  the  eastward  one  can  hear  the  sea, 
And   after    dusk   another  voice   will   rise 

Blending  the  sea's  in  soaring  harmony, 
As  through  the  whole  wide  width  of  heaven  there  flies 
The  love-chant  of  this  marble  paradise. 

Within   no   light   save   where   the   gleaming  walls 
Catch  through  some  shaft  a  radiant  flood  of  white, 

Which  like  a  stud  of  stars  glistening  falls 

Where  dancing  forms  bathed  in  the  snowy  light 
Sweep  singing  on  through  the  long  fervid  night. 

The  violins'   quaint  miracle  of  sound 

Will  hold  the  swaying  of  entranced  feet; 

Each  straight  young  body  to  another  bound, 
Limb  touching  limb  in  rhythmic  seeking  meet, 
While  breast  to  breast  their  hearts  riotous  beat. 

Before  the  dawn  the  chant  will  die  away, 
And  odorous  barques  will  bear  them  toward  the  sea, 

Sense-thrilled  to   greet,  to  meet  the  coming  day; 
And  in   dawn's   golden   glory  speechlessly 
First  feel  that  love  makes  them  for  all  time  free. 

We  too  must  pass  and  meet  the  lashing  sea, 
This  hour  with  its  music  now  is  gone. 

From  out  this  land  of  laughter  we  must  flee, 
Nor  couch  of  down  will  softly  bear  us  on, 
Come,  love,  we  seek  another  sort  of  dawn! 


62 


DISSOLVING  VIEWS 

'T'HE    sun    hath    crashed    through    the   vast   crush   of 

clouds 

That  overcast  the  east;   the  wintry   skies' 
Bright  lamp  to   drive   away   night's   sable   shrouds; 
And  now  unveiled  the  world  before  us  lies, 
A  wide-stretched  shapeless  malign  sheet  of  ice! 

We  cannot  any  longer  cheat  our  eyes, 
The  sun  seeks  not  a  hyacinthine  bed. 

Our  dream  is  slain  in  its  own  paradise, 
A  faded  flower  with  its  fragrance   fled, 
Here  now  behold  this  awful  scene  outspread! 

Ignoble  clanging  of  a  harsh-tongued  bell 

Sweeps  through  the  valley  like  a  cutting  pain; 

As  when  one  hears  the  horrid  howl  of  hell 

Scream  through  the  darkness  of  the  flowerless  plain, 
This  sound  brings  each  man  back  to  life  again. 

The  heavy  smoke  hangs  like  a  stagnant  mist, 
Hiding  the  grandeur  of  the  hills'  snow  throne. 

And  now  the  screech  of  wheels  beginning  hissed, 
The  wheels   that  tear  man's  flesh   unto  the  bone; 
Ugliness  shrieks  with  glee  to  hear  each  moan. 

We  too  are  caught  within  those  clutching  hands, 
We  too  must  travel  on  that  joyless  way, 

Where  dawn  brings  but  the  same  quick-running  sands, 
And  night  in  pity  hides  the  battered  day, 
And   hope    seems   like    a   memory    grown    grey. 

This  is  not  life;  for  life  is  keen   and  fair, 
And  soft  its  words  fall  on  the  listening  ear, 

Like  a  boy's  breath  within  a  young  girl's  hair; 
But   this   wild   shrieking  sea   of   sound  we   hear 
Strikes  dumb  life's  voice — we  stand  and  stare  and  fear. 

This  is  not  life;  yet  it  drives  us  atwain, 

Our  dream  is  dead;  but  only  it  is  true, 
And  being  true  it  then  must  live  again. 

We  are  mated  forever:  I  am  through, 
Our  paths  break  now;  this  one  short  hour  must  do. 

63 


LAST  ORIENTATION 

OTHAT  one  touch,  one  word  thou  migh'st  but  give 
To  this  poor  song  that  droops  for  want  of  thee, 
Then  longer  than  its  language  it  would  live, 
The  mirror  of  thy  passionate  purity, 
Which   in   itself  were  immortality! 

O  that  my  voice  might  be  a  soaring  fire 
To  blaze  the  glory  of  thy  hidden  name 

Within  the  alien  sky,  and  then  expire, 
And  vanish  in  the  darkness  whence  it  came, 
My  soul  a  rapturous   sacrificial  flame! 

The  sweetest  thing  in  life  is  to  be  loved! 

O  day-break  bride,  go  thou  thy  way,  and  I 
Will  guard  thy  going,  standing  here  unmoved; 

To  linger  longer  were  to  wish  to  die, 

To  be  together  were  a  joy  too  high. 

Life  could  not  give  a  greater  bliss  than  this: 
To  snatch  from  love  a  moment's  mastery, 

And  then  renounce  it  with  a  last  swift  kiss, 
Each  daring  with  dauntless  audacity 
To  sail  alone  over  the  shoreless  sea. 

We  need  not  one  another,  for  we  love, 
And  love  shall  be  the  highest  crown  of  all. 

Though  other  things  may  from  our  lives  remove, 
The  temple  we  have  built  will  never  fall, 
Only  the  beautiful  is  eternal! 


64 


LAUD:   A   SONNET 

DEAR  love,  my  love,  ±  owe  you  many  things, 
And  not  the  least  of  these    a  tribute-word. 
It  were  but  slight  thanks  for  the  crown  conferred 
When  with  your  love  you  made  me  lord  of  kings 
Within  your  heart,  and  wrapped  your  woman's  wings 
Protectingly  around  me.     Song  has  stirred 
Often  for  utterance,  but  you  have  not  heard, 
Because  when  you  are  near  'tis  your  voice  sings. 

To  praise  your  character  in  sounding  line 
Is  doubly  hard,  for  you  have  given  me 

So  much  of  you,  and  I   have  made  it  mine, 
That  now  to   find  any  identity, 

Distinct,   apart, — so   close   we   intertwine, 
Beyond  my  power  is.     O  fortunate  me! 


IN  DEFENSE 


To 

Mary  Upshaw 


IN   DEFENSE 

ND  thus  the  prisoner  made  his  defense: 

I  killed  my  wife;  and  killed  her  while  she  slept. 
I  kissed  her  ere  I  killed  her;  then  I  sat 
Down  by  her  bedside  till  the  morning  came. 

'Twas  neither  wrath  nor  hatred  caused  the  act. 
It  was  because  I  loved  her.     She  loved  me, 

I  was  the  first  and  last  of  life  to  her. 
To  separate  had  grown  imperative, 

Yet  had  I  left  her  she  would  have  gone  mad, 
Stark,  raving  mad,  or  else  sought  to  degrade 

Her  soul  and  body,  which  had  loved  me  so. 
Death  would  not  have  come  grimly  to  her  aid, 

Too  writhing  had  been  grief  to  let  her  die, 
And  she  had  not  the  courage  to  seek  it. 

It   was   ten   years   ago    she   came   to   me; 
I  was  a  young  physician  full  of  zeal, 

She,  a  divorcee,  drifting  rudderless. 
Everything  was  inverted  in  her  heart, — 

She  longed  for  tenderness,  yet  laughed  at  it, 
Because  she  dared  not  hope  that  it  would  come. 

She  had  dammed  up  a  thousand  crying  wants, — 
No  woman  ever  lived  who  had  had  less 

Of  what  she  wanted  to  fulfil  her  life. 
Her  needs  were  endless  since  she  enjoyed  naught, 

So  starved  was  she  she  did  not  even  know 
Precisely  what   she  wanted.     Ah,  so  maimed, 

Twisted,  cut,  bleeding  was  this  living  thing, 
It  almost  was  a  life's  work  just  to  nurse, 

And  bring  her  back  to  normal  pitch  again. 
Her  nerves  were  wrecked,  restlessness  made  her  throb, 

Tears   brought  no   quiet  to   her  feverish   breast. 

It  was  the  topmost  moment  of  my  life 

When  I   did  find  this  woman  who  is  dead. 

I  saw  this  tortured  broken  human  being, 
And  felt  I  could  relieve  her  misery. 

69 


How  I  leaped  to  it,  made  her  case  my  care; 

My  medicine  was  love.     It  made   her  well. 
Within  a  year  the  change  in  her  was  marked. 

She  nestled  in  the  nest  I  made  for  her, 
Grew  soft,  smoothed-out,  and  sweetly  young  again; 

Ten  years  slipped  from  her  in  the  short  twelve  months, 
And  she  became  a  woman  finely  poised, 

Full  of  the  swift  sweep  of  free  heart  and  soul. 
When  I  saw  this  I  then  grew  warm  with  pride, 

I  felt  a  flush  of  triumph  for  my  work; 
Here  was  the  wilted  woman  I  had  found 

In  bloom  anew  and  fragrant. 

Finished  my  task  I  thought  to  say  farewell; 
Her  need  of  me  was  ended  as  I  deemed. 

And  I  had  my  own  life-case  to  care  for, 
My  own  search   for  a  woman  who  would  make 

Her  tenderness  envelope  me  from  harm, 
And  stand  between  me   and  the  touch  of  fear. 

But  when  I  tried  to  go  the  way  was  barred, 
Barred  in  an  awful  way  I  recked  not  of; 

She  loved  me,  and  I  had  grown  part  of  her, 
Part  of  her  bone  and  being,  and  to  stand 

Alone   without   me   was    impossible. 
True,  I  had  made  her  a  whole  woman  once  more, 

Splendid  and  strong,  but  only  with  me  by, 
With  me  away  she  just  collapsed  again. 

It  was  a  frightful  moment  for  us  both 
When  she  first  realized  I  wished  to  go. 

Never  have  I   seen  anyone  shrivel 
So  horribly  from  life  to  nothingness. 

I  then  knew  I  had  made  a  huge  mistake; 
For,   as  physician,   I   had  found  that   she 

Needed  a  man's  love  and  I  gave  it  her, 
But  I  saw  not  that  she  when  quite  made  well 

Would   still   continue   in   that   self-same  need. 

And  so  I  could  not  leave  her  at  the  end. 

It  was  my  error  brought  the  case  to  this, 
And  I  resolved  that  I  would  watch  it  out; 

At  least  to  some  other  closing. 

70 


Besides,  I  loved  her,  please  remember  that, 

Not  as  she  loved  me,  but  love  just  the  same; 
Mine  had  its  root  in  her  real  helplessness, 

Her  every  weakness  closer  touched  my  heart; 
But  that  alone  would  not  keep  me  alive, 

I  also  am  quite  human  and  I  need 
A  woman's  strength  to  help  my  man's  weakness, 

Else  I  were  more  than  mortal,  which  I  am  not 
She  made  my  heart  glow,  but  she  brought  no  fuel; 

It  was  a  joy  to  feed  her  deep   hunger, 
But  I  got  nothing  back  except  that  joy. 

I  was  her  nurse,  but  at  the  illness'  close 
I  too  had  need  of  nursing,  don't  you  see? 

But  she  was   still   an  invalid,   alas! 

Since  things  were  thus   I  simply  took  them  so. 

This  was  nine  years  ago  and  from  that  time 
She  has  been  happy  to  her  heart's  desire; 

There  were  no  dregs  within  the  cup  she  drained, 
I  filled  the  goblet  to  the  very  brim. 

Ah,  how   I   was  her  lover!     Ask  them  all, — 
All  men  who  know  me,  if  I  was  not  kind. 

Tender  and  true,  if  every  little  thought 
Was  not  of  her,  and  what  might  please  her  most. 

They  called  us  the  immortal  lovers,  us! 
And  never  guessed  the  truth. 

I  drew  upon  the  future,  and  when  dawned 
The  day  I  was  quite  bankrupt,  then  I  knew 

The  hour  to  act  had  come;  I  said:  Tonight 
She  dies,  but  glad,  still  glad!     For  all  that  day 

I  was  more  kind,  kept  her  more  at  my  side, 
And  made  each  moment  seem  a  sweeter  thing. 

Through  the  long  evening  how  we  climbed  up  higher 
From  joy  to  joy,  and  when  the  midnight  came 

Never  had  she  so  tasted  earthly  bliss, 
Or  felt  such  deep  contentment  in  her  soul. 

She  crept  within  her  bed  and  fell  asleep 
With  her  image  of  me,  glowing  in  her  breast, 

Like  an  unborn  child  resting  in  the  womb. 

I  killed  my  wife,  and  killed  her  while  she  slept; 
But  kissed  her  ere  I  killed  her,  as  I  said. 

71 


SONGS  ETERNAL 


To 

Louis  Mattson 


NORTHERN  NIGHTS 


T 


HE  night  is  cold,  the  streets  are  bleak  and  bare, 

I  want  red  roses  in  my  arms  once  more — 
The  moon  is  gone  and  icy  is  the  air, 
Thea  the  Wild,   I   stand  outside  your  door! 


The  moon  is  gone  and  icy  is  the  air, — 

My  heart  cries  out  for  your  warm  lips  once  more- 
Thea  the  Wild,  I  stand  outside  your  door, 

Bid  me  within  and  banish  my   despair! 

Thea  the  Wild,  I  stand  outside  your  door, — 
Full   of  sweet   tangles   is  your  unbound  hair — 

Bid  me  within  and  banish  my  despair, 
Let  my  desire  burst  into  flame  once  more! 


75 


RESEMBLANCE 

ONE  dusk  thy  image  for  all  time  I  caught, — 
Thou  stoodst  before  me  whitely  garmentless, 
Thine  eyes  were  flame  and  thy  arms  opened  wider 
While  thy  red  mouth  made  sound  deliriously. 
Thy  tender  flesh    I   gathered  to  my   side 

Until  thy  heart  against  my  heart  did  press, 
And  in  thy  nubile  body's  mystery 

I  found  the  speechless  perfect  joy  I  sought! 


.SONNET   ETERNAL 

IT  is  not  that  I  love  thee  any  less, 
Which  holds  me  back  when  I  might  so  close  be; 
Thy  lips  have   opened,   calling  hungrily, 
And  thy  eyes  fill  with  questioning  distress. 
I  stand  away  but  to  once  more  confess 

How  my  whole  soul  throbs  with  its  pride  in  thee,- 
Still   gaze  I  at  my  fortune  wonderingly, 
For  thou  art  near  the  stars  in  perfectness! 

O  keen  clean  limbs!     O  little  sweet  fleet  feet! 

O  bright  white  thighs  that  are  love's  resting-place! 

O  singing  curves  that  make  thy  body's  line! 
When  and  where  was  it  first  we  two  did  meet? 

And  how  have  I  deserved  of  life  this  grace, 

Possession  of  thy  womanhood  divine? 


77 


QUOI,  DONC,  LES  ROIS  MEURENT-ILS 

HERE  in  this  heavy-curtained  room 
We  have  shut  the  world  out,  you  and  I; 
You  watch  the  dusk  give  a  rose-stained  sky, 
While   I    see  your   face  fade  in   the   gloom. 
Incense  burns  at  your  worshipped  feet, 
Creeps  up  your  gown,  and  steals  through  your  hair; 
The  touch  of  you  grows  poignantly  sweet, 

And   desire  becomes   too   deep   to   bear. 
Our  aching  hands  reach  out  to  meet. 
Love  brings   us  closer  with   each   heart-beat, 
Yet  you  are  sad:  and  I  am  not  glad. 


78 


JE  NE  VIS  PLUS:  J'ASSISTE  A  LA  VIE 

IF  we  had  only  stood  forth  side  by  side, 
And  cast  away  all  thoughts  and  fears  save  one, 
That  death  were  better  than  to  live  alone, 
We  might  ere  this  have  felt  a  turning  tide. 
We  might  have  conquered  had  we  only  tried! 
We  are  but  human;  with  our  wish  once  won, 
Even  if  fate  overruled  us  with  day  but  begun, 
For  the  short  time  together  we  had  gladly  died. 

Now  we  must  clear  the  sorrow  from  our  eyes, 
Outside  the  world  is  waiting  our  return 
To  claim  the  grey  and  hopeless  coming  years; 

Forever  we  are  cast  from  paradise, 
We  may  not  linger  longer,  though  we  yearn 
At  this  last  hour  even  for  the  joy  of  tears! 


79 


IN  THE  GARDENS:  VERSAILLES 

GO,  if  thou  wilt;  thou  tak'st  my  love  with  thee, — 
With  my  whole  heart  of  love  I  set  thee  free; 
It  matters   naught, — thou   wilt  not  forget  me! 

Bend  thou  above  another  body's  flame, 

Give  to  her  my  red  roses  in  love's  name, 
Thou  still  wilt  be  my  lover  just  the  same. 

Put  thou  between  us  many  seas  and  lands, 

It  will  not  loose  thee  from  the  silken  bands 
That  I  have  wound  around  thee  with  my  hands! 


80 


AT    SKAGEN 

THOU  wilt  not  be  my  mistress?     Then,  good-bye, 
Thou   canst   not  mate  my  heart's  great  love  of 
thee; 
It  was  the  test  of  trust  to  try  thee  by, 

Prove  thy  soul  large  as  fair  thy  face  to  see; 
Thine  is  a  scant  love, — go  away  from  me! 

Hadst  thou  given  me  thy  life  at  just  my  call, 

Thy  body   and   thy   fate   unquestionly; 
Hadst  thou  with  smiling  lips  offered  me  all, 

Dared  with  a  brave  laugh  my  love's  perfidy, 

I  would  have  loved  thee  for  eternity. 

And  though  thy  faith  by  me  had  been  betrayed 
How  would  grief  the  more  poignant  be  to  know. 

For  having  been  my  mistress  unafraid? 

Since  losing  love  when  thou  hadst  loved  me  so, 
If  thou  hadst  loved,  would  be  the  only  woe. 

Women  have  asked  of  men  in  swearing  troth 
The  sacrifice  of  country,  honour,  fame, 

Despising  them  if  they  were  e'er  so  loath, 
Why  should  not  I  too  ask  of  thee  the  same, 
If  thou  didst  love  me  what  would  matter  shame? 

Thou  wilt  not  be  my  mistress?     Then,  good-bye, 
Since  it  is  so  I  wish  thee  not  as  wife. 

Thou  venturest   naught,   and   neither   then   will   I, 

Yet  hadst  thou  cut  through  fear  with  faith  for  knife 
I  would  have  loved  thee  for  the  whole  of  life! 


81 


UNDERGLOOMS 


To 

E.  E.  Johnson 


NIGHT-SONG   FOR   AUTUMN 

THE  tuneless   drip   of  the  twilight  rain 
Keeps  time  with  my  heart-beats  as  I  stray 
Through  streets  where  last  spring  I  saw  sunlight 

play. 

The  chill   wet   benumbs   my   sense  of  pain, 
And  sound  of  whispers  that  fade  away 
Brings  a  voiceless  close  to  this  dead  fall  day. 

Night  which  drops  down  now  on  silent  wings 
Wraps  mist  and  rain  round  me  tenderly; 
It  shuts  out  the  blue  sky's  cold  mockery 

And  shrouds  the  sight  of  all  hateful  things. 
Stars,  streets  and  houses  are  hid  from  me, 
The  world  is  sealed  up  in  vast  secrecy. 

Peace  that  has  nothing  with  life  nor  death, 
Nor  the  sad  irony  of  a  dream, 
Floats  out  of  the  blackness  until  I  seem 

Free  of  time  and  space  to  draw  new  breath, 
And  here  in  the  dark  where  no  lights  gleam 
With  my  soul   I   hold  carnival  supreme! 


MONODY 

1WAS  born  out  of  rhyme, 
Out  of  tune 
With  the  time, 
And  life's  only  boon 
Death  will  come  soon! 


86 


PEACOCK   FEATHERS 


To 

Abraham  Merritt 


PLACIDE  POURS  TEA 

WILLOWY  Placide  with  her  cool  kind  hands 
Clasping  the  marvel  of  her  oval  face 
Makes  of  her  drawing-room  the  great  good  place, 
Where,  mid  the  quiet,  one's  tired  soul  expands, 
And  catches  glimpses  of  dim  twilit  lands, 
With  silent  winds  that  blow  through  unknown  space. 
She  fills   the  tea-cups   with   the  faintest   trace 
Of  a  smile  to  tell  how  she  understands. 

Tender  with  sweet  flesh  her  young  vibrant  frame 
Glows  till  'tis  luminous  like  golden  glass. 

Her  few  words  fall  when  the  shadows  mass 
Into  dusk  enshrouding  the  west's  last  flame, 

And  the  night  as  it  comes  put  final  seal 
On  an  hour's  joy  that  was  almost  real. 


WE  TWO  AT  TABLE 

WE  two  at  table  o'er  gold  bouillon  cups! 
Our  hands  play  with  the  napkins'  snowy  white, 
Or  range   the   heavy   silver  forks   aright, 
With  the  light  heart  of  one  who  kingly  sups. 
Around  the  cafe  other  diners  are, 

We  glance  about,  and  then  I  look  at  her; 
I  smile, — she  laughs.     Our  eyes  jointly  confer; 
The  world  fades   from  us  like  a  falling  star. 

Fish,  fowl  and  roast  are  brought  on  in  their  turn; 
I  think  an  orchestra  has  played  the  while, 
Yet  what  they  played  I  know  not.     All's  one  air. 

The  finger-bowl!  the  bill!     We  homeward  turn, — 
A  smart  drive  in  a  hansom  for  a  mile — 
Before  I  leave  her  she  shall  know  I  care! 


90 


CHURCHES 

THE    churches    in   the   old   time    rose   on   high 
Nearest  to  heaven  of  all  man's  works  in  stone. 
Above  the  other  buildings  of  a  town 
A  tall    spire   soared   and   seemed   to   touch   the   sky; 
But   it  no  longer  greets  the   distant  eye, 
Proud-rearing   in   the   upper   air   alone; 
Sky-scrapers  now,  trade's  temples, — huge,  o'ergrown, 
Conceal   the   place   of   praise   and   prayer   and   sigh. 

Above    where    once    only    the   cross    stood   out 
Roof-gardens    flourish.      Empty    hearts    forget 
The  chimes   rung   far  below.     The   dance  is  trod. 

Gay   diners  mock  the   future  with   a   shout, 
And  fleck  the   ashes  of  a  cigarette 
Carelessly  down  upon  the  house  of  God! 


LIKE  rose  silk  thy  soft  body  is, 
Thy  black  hair  hangs  like  heavy  night, 
Thy  mouth  is  red,  thy  throat  is  white; 
Dear  lady,  thou  art  all  a  kiss 

That  lures  to  dreams  of  warm  delight! 
Thy  beauty  is  too  rare  for  me, 
Only  one  boon  I  beg  from  thee. 
I  merely  ask  for  liberty. 

I  swore  a  vow  of  constancy, 

0  sweet  as  sin  it  was  to  swear! 
A  faint  whisper  upon  the  air, 

And  it  had  passed  from  me  to  thee. 
Now  wilt  thou  give  it  back  to  me? 
Once  more  I  wish  to  hear  the  strain, 

A  fresh  pink  ear,  the  same  refrain, 

1  want  to  make  the  vow  again! 


92 


GOVERNMENT  BONDS 


I 


N  twenty  years  ....  we  shall  be  free 

Beyond  the   reach   of  poverty's   grim   fears; 
We  shall  have  saved  a  fortune  toilsomely 
In  twenty  years. 


By  day  and  through  the  night  dream  I  and  she 

How  we  shall  travel  as  the  fancy  steers. 
Mix  with  the  mountains;  gay  hearts,  sail  the  sea 
In  twenty  years. 

In  twenty  years  we   end  frugality 

To  claim  the  golden  joys  long  in  arrears! 
And  yet,  alas!  should  we  stiff -jointed  be 
In  twenty  years! 


93 


VALSE 


IF  the  waltz  would  only  last 
With  its  tune  so  bravely  gay! 
Outside   is   the   wintry  blast, 
Where  wind  and  the  night  hold  sway. 
Here  is  the  ball-room  bright 

Warm  and  ablaze  with  light, 
And  the  gliding  of  girlish   feet 

Makes  life  for  the  moment  complete, 
If  only  the  waltz  would  last 
With  its  tune  so  bravely  gay! 

If  the  waltz  would  only  last 

With  its  tune  so  bravely  gay! 
Again  I  may  fold  her  fast 

As  the  violins  start  to  play. 
There  is  glow  in  my  heart,  not  gloom, 

Lo!  she  blushes  like  roses  in  bloom 
As  we  sweep  o'er  the  waxen  floor. 

O  what  could  one  ask  for  more, 
If  only  the  waltz  would  last 

With  its  tune  so  bravely  gay! 


94 


RONDEAU:   ANNISQUAM 


I 


DARE  not  kiss  those  lips  of  thine, 

Whose  crimson  fulness  promise  bliss; 
Their  lovely  curves  that  are  divine 
I  dare  not  kiss. 


To  watch  thy  lips  how  sweet  it  is! 

Ever  my  wish  to  make  them  mine, 
And  yet  to  taste  means  pain,  I  wis. 

For  if  I  once  did  sip  their  wine 

I  could  do  nothing  else  but  this; 
To  chains  love  would  my  life  consign. 
I  dare  not  kiss. 


95 


HUNDREDTH   CHANCE 

O  THERE  was  the  choice  of  the  hundredth  chance, 
With  the  joy  of  the  whole  world  if  we  won! 
As  a  comrade  in  arms  had  you  cried:  "Advance," 
What  could  our  courage  not  have  done? 
We  had  laughed,  loved,  lived  ere  the  set  of  sun, 

And  ended  our  day  with  triumphal  dance, 
Had  you  only  chosen  the  hundredth   chance, 
And  the  joy  of  the  world  had  won! 


96 


ROSES,   ROSES 

IT  was  roses,   roses  underneath, 
And  a  rainbow   overhead! 
The  sky  was  fair,  for  she  was  there, 
And  not  a  word  was  said, — 
We  did  not  even  breathe. 
We  looked  at  the  roses  underneath, 
At  the   rainbow   overhead, 
And  love  our  footsteps  led. 
O  many  miles  that  day  we  strayed, 
And  were  not  once  afraid, 
Nor  knew  how  long  we  stayed. 
It  was  roses,  roses  underneath, 
And  a  rainbow  overhead! 


DAWN  CHANTS 


To 

Comtesse  Jeanne  d'Invers 


PROLUSION 

IT  is  morning-time 
In    the    day-break   land 
Of  a  dawning  hope 
Of  the  widest  scope 
For  the  heart  and  hand 
In  an  unleashed  rhyme. 


101 


BEFORE   DAWN 

ALL  the  east  streaked  with  a  golden  band, 
And  laughter  lying  in  morning's  eyes; 
The  breath  of  bloom  from  the  fresh  sweet  land 
That  round  about  me  lies; 
The   deepening  green   of  the  tender  grass, 
A   world  of  wonder   in   each   small   blade; 
The  early  wealth  of  the  forest  glade, — 
These  bring  a  joy  which  will  never  pass, 
A  full  overflowing  of  love  in  me, 
A   feeling  of  vague  expectancy. 

Mysterious    stirring  in   the   brake, 

And  a  shrill  call  running  through  the  air; 

I   never   knew  till   this   one  voice   spake 
That  life  could  be  so   fair! 

And   with   a   rush   as   when  bended   boughs 
Scatter  white  blossoms  upon  the  earth. 
Joy,  gladness,  laughter,  madness  of  mirth 

Break  with  a  bound  my  soul  to  arouse, 

Till  I  stand  with  wide-opened  wondering  eyes 
Before  an  unfolded  paradise. 

How  wide  the  sky  spreads  from  east  to  west 

With  never  a  break  in  its  stainless  blue! 
It  gives  for  doubt  in  my  soul  confessed 

Its  own   frank  open  view. 
How  like  the  pain  of  a  dream-tossed  sleep 

When  one  wakes  beneath  a  loving  eye, 

Dissolve   all  fears   in  its   clarity. 
I  become  part  of  its  endless  sweep, 
And  boundless  and  breadthless  it  is  the  key 

Of  its  own  eternal  mystery! 


102 


LARK  SONG  FOR  THE  MORNING  STAR 

WILD  grasses  hide  the  silent  pool 
Held  in  a  morning  twilight  dream; 
Daffodils  springing  fresh  and  cool 
Make  mid   the   green   a  yellow   stream; 
In  the  pool's  depths  a  glowing  spark 
Hath  charmed  the  eyes  of  a  young  lark 
As  he  watches  the  silver  gleam. 

The  lark  is  resting  in  his  nest 

Among  the  grass  and  daffodils. 
His  eyes  have  caught  the  pool's  white  guest, 

Whose  lustre  through  the  water  thrills, 
Piercing  the  crystal  with   its  light, 
Dimming  all  with  its  silver  might, 

Till  its  splendour  the  lark's  heart  fills. 

Over  the   grasses   low  winds   blow 
Driving  the  darkness  toward  the  west; 

The  lark  hath  seen  above  the  east's  glow 
The  light  that  burst  within  his  nest. 

One  lithe  leap  on  an  outspread  wing, 

And  from  a  flown  bird's  breast  doth  spring 
Soaring  song  of  joyous  unrest. 

His  flight  is  toward  the  dazzling  star, 
Alone  through   heaven  he  wings   his  way; 

Snatches  of  song  are  heard  afar, 
A  chant  to  usher  in  the  day; 

With  the  star  will  his  form  grow  dim, 

But  the  rapturous  heart  of  him 
In  the  clouds  will  forever  stay! 


103 


AEGEAN    ISLES 


o 


ANY   ship,   dear   love,   for   any    shore, 

'So  that  it  bear  us  through  the  summer  sea, — 
The   water's   welcome   to   the   gleaming   oar, 
And  then  alone  with  thee! 


Silently  sitting  at  the  spray-splashed  prow 
Through  the  brave  star-lit  splendour  of  the  night, 

At  dawn  without  our  eyes  shall  we  not  know 
A  fair  new  land  in  sight! 


104 


SONG  TO  THE  SPRING  WIND 

THOU  art  swift  and  strong,  thott  art  fresh  and  free, 
Thou  hast  risen  up  from  thy  revery, 
O  wind!     O  brave  bride  of  the  surging  sea! 
Thou  hast  burst  the  bonds  that  winter  laid, 
Now  thou  art  avenger,  wrathful  maid! 
Who  shall  gainsay  thee,  who  shall  delay  thee, 
O  fleet  resistless  might  without  form, 
With  thy  soaring  heart,  thy  soul  of  storm? 
Tempest   and  whirlwind  will   thy  comrades  be 
When  thou  strik'st  a  mood  of  mockery. 

Thou  wilt  sweep  on  wild  with  thy  hurricane 
Till  the  heavens  are  clear  of  the  clouds  of  rain 

Ere  ever  to  sleep  thou  wilt  sink  again; 
Till  dawn  shall  disclose  the  lilied  vale, 
And  roses  blooming  in  earth's  cheeks  pale; 

Awful  as  fate's  face,  fiercer  than  hate's  pace, 

Thou  wilt  range  through  the  sky  bringing  life, 

Triumphal,  majestic,  torn  with  strife, 
And  we  who  are  mortals  shall  see  in  thee 
The  glory  of  immortality! 


105 


AT  WALT  WHITMAN'S  TOMB 

DELICATE  pale  green  flakes  of  light 
Softly  sift  through  the  tender  leaves, 
Trembling  before  the  dawn's  young  might 
That  with   their  beauty  new  beauty  weaves. 
The  first  faint  far-off  murmur  of  morn, 
Joyous  and  glad,  from  the  east  is  borne, 
Like  a  human  voice  in  a  land  forlorn; 
And  its  song  is  mingled  with  cries  of  flight, 
For  the   night   is   nearly   worn. 

Each  wave  of  light  shows  fairer  things, — 

Violet  vales   that   dreaming  lie — 
Each  new  song  that  morning  sings 

Wings  higher  and  sweeps  through  clearer  sky; 
My  heart  drinks  deep  till  it  cannot  be 

Longer  held  back  from  full  liberty, 
The  restless  longing  of  feet  to  be  free, 
With  the  world's  wide  rim  for  their  wanderings 

In  the  joy  of  discovery. 

Freed  of  bonds  till  I  naked  stand 

With  the  wind  in  my  tangled  hair; 
My  eyes  turned  toward  the  open  land 

With  a  wish  to  be  everywhere; 
Each  indrawn  breath  is  a  stranger  thrill, 

Till  all  thoughts  else  in  my  soul  are  still, 

The   hope  in  my  heart  worketh   its  (^wn  will: 
The  flowers  that  lie  in  my  upraised  hand 

Shall  be  strewn  on  the  sun-burst  hill! 


106 


FULFILMENT 

O'ER  fields  fresh  as  virginity 
The  breeze  blows  sweet  and  strong, 
Life  spreads  out  to  infinity 
Like  a  glad  burst  of  song, 
For  during  dawn's  divinity 
Spring  passed  along! 


107 


PRELUDES 


To 

Lord  Alfred  Douglas 


AWAKENING 

LATEST  and  least  I  come  to  Beauty's  shrine, 
Youngest  and  poorest  in  my  words  of  praise; 
A  white-robed  girl  now  bears  a  grey-flecked  vase 
That  puts  to  shame  these  simple  gifts  of  mine. 
Far  fairer  garlands  than  my  hands  could  twine 
Lie  on  thy  altar;  through  the  woody  ways 
Soft  music  steals,  some  wreath-crowned  lyrist  plays, 
What  song  of  mine  can  reach  those  ears  of  thine? 

Yet,  though   unworthy  of  thy   sacred  grove, 

Let  me  in  silence  here  awhile  abide, — 
I  surely  shall  not  among  men  be  missed — 

And  through  these  very  pleasant  valleys  rove. 
Bringing  to  thee  the  shyer  flowers  that  hide 

As  offering — thy  humble  eucharist! 


ill 


ELEGIAC 

O W Obiit  A.D.   1881. 

DEAR  head,  too  frail  and  fair,  thou  art  at  rest; 
White    lily-soul,    night   made    thee   tremble    so, 
And  wearied  fled'st  thou  from  the  day's  hot  glow. 
No  tenant  save  of  wan  pain  had  thy  breast. 
O  sweetest,  clearest,  saddest,  song's  loved  guest, 
Thy  reedy  pipe  with  honey  tones   did  flow 
Not  loud  and  great,  but  wistfully  and  low, 
Last  singer  in  the  old  gods'  altar-quest! 

Too   shell-like  was  thy  bark  for  life's   rough   sea, 

And  rudderless  it  bore  into  the  gale. 
When  the  dark  wave  did  snatch  thee  from  the  air 

I  hope  the  amber  dusk  fell  full  on  thee, 
And  a  nereid  finding  young  and  pale, 

Smoothed  out  with  love  thy  beautiful  black  hair. 


112 


VICTOR 

OTO   launch   forth  on   some  great   grand   emprise, 
With   spreading   sails   and   sounding   trumpet-blare, 
Drift  down  the  tide  in  the   still  morning  air, 
While  half  the  world  in   dream-tossed   slumber  lies; 
Boldly  stand  out  against  the  gold-clad  skies, 

Mix  with  the  wonder  of  the  flame-fraught  flare, 
Laugh  loud  with  life  watching  the  wan  night  wear, 
And  the  sad  shores  fade  from  the  straining  eyes! 

Mount  with  the  wave,  and  vex  the  veering  wind, 
Ride  o'er  the  ridge,  beat  back  the  gulfing  crest, 

Fling  free  more  sail,  and,  chanting,  forward  leap 
With  tireless  watch  the  masking  mist  would  blind, 

Yea,  through  the  fog  with  an  awed  breathless  breast, 
And  view  the  new  land  rising  from  the  deep! 


SUPREME 

A  HUSHED   host   passes   by    incarnadine, — 
They  turn  on  me  their  large  despairing  eyes; 
f  The  drops  of  blood  burn  in  their  crimson  dyes, 
Flaming  my  veins  with  the  fierce  fire  of  wine. 
And  I  who  lingering  at  a  lonely  shrine 
Heard   virgin    voices    sing   in   luring   wise, 
Find  coming  forth  man's  freedom  dying  lies, 
I  cannot — and  I  will  not  give  up  mine! 

Nay,  for  I  love  them,  and  my  soul  runs  mad 
To  pierce  the  sullen  clouds  that  gloom  the  sky. 

I   could  not  wish   a  fairer   death   than  this, 
To  look  up  at  the  Galilean  sad, 

Knowing  the  world  had  heard  my  last  great  cry, 
Then  be  betrayed  by  a  false  Judas'  kiss! 


114 


DEJECTION 

BURIED  in  wonder  with  imagining, 
With  soul  deep  hushed  I  saw  pale  morning's  feast, 
And  heard  dawn's  birth-hymn  in  the  gold-mad  east, 
The  thunder-throated  tumult  of  day's  king. 
And  then  it  was  the  moment  made  to  spring 
For  all  time  and  the  glory,  as  the  priest 
With  light-shod  crown,  upon  the  night  that  ceased, 
But  I  held  back  and  lost  the  soaring  wing. 

And  I  who  might  have  died  upon  a  cross 
Must  live  to  watch  my  lifeless  lingering, 

When  could  have  been  the  final  thing  supreme; 
The  fire  would  have  been  deathless.     O  the  loss, 

Eternity  of  my  own  fashioning: 
O  to  have  died  in  agony  extreme! 


LAND'S   END:    CORNWALL 

O  SISTER,  I  have  thrown  the  sea  aside, 
And  for  a  moment's  space  its  empire  hold; 
Bruised  and  weak  and  hopeless   I  grew  bold, 
With  desperate  hands  I  crushed  the  strangling  tide. 
Breathe  thou  upon  my  joy  and  be  its  bride, 
Let  me  forget  my  soul  which  I  have  sold, 
Delude  myself  with  this  one  moment's  gold, 
And  for  the  instant  feel  revivified! 

I  cannot  now  endure  the  light  of  day, 
Nor  may  I  shut  my  eyes  against  the  true. 

No   rest  in   drugged   slumber  would  there  be, 
Yet  O  to  keep  my  misery  at  bay, 

To  laugh  once  more  and  dream  I  still  may  do, 
My  strength  is  gone.     Life  is  too  terrible! 


116 


FUTILITY 

THE  great  god  Pan  is  dead !   his  fashioned  reed 
Will   no   more   pipe    for   merry   festive   ring; 
No   naiad   haunts   the   cool    green    sylvan    spring 
While  hidden  eyes  on  her  white  beauty  feed. 
Young  Hyacinthus'  wounds  no  longer  bleed, 
Apollo  has  forgot  that  deadly  fling, 
Nor  recks  he  now  of  any  other  sting, 
For   he   has   fled   on   some   swift-winged   steed. 

Yon  ripened  grain  will  on  no  altar  lie, 

No  pious  reaper  gather  as  of  old 
The  yellow  wealth.     Dread  shapes  sweep  'cross  the  sky 

With  sable  wings.     Night  steals  the  dusk's  last  gold. 
O  that  my  heart  of  song  would  mount  so  high, 

And  that  my  hand  should  be  so  weak  and  cold! 


117 


IN  THE  MORGUE:  A  DEAD  VISIONARY 

A  COLD  corpse  lay  upon  the  marble  floor, 
And  asked  for  nothing;   he  was  happier  so. 
The  long  damp  hair  fell  over  his  white  brow, 
Gleaming  like  sunlight  on  gold-glinting  ore. 
The  Seine's  dark  bed  had  given  up  one  more, 

And  one  whose  lips   had  scarcely  lost  their  glow, 
For  a  smile  lingered,  and  it  would  not  go, 
Death  could  not  rob  him  of  the  crown  he  wore. 

The  mad  mob's  curse  he  passed  by  heedlessly, 
And  went  his  way  holding  a  wondrous  charm, 

Flaunting  his  faith  right  in  the  face  of  fear; 
And  when  life  turned  upon  him  with  a  sneer 

He  smiled  as  one  beyond  the  reach  of  harm, 
And  with  his  dream  entered  eternity. 


118 


UNPURSUED 

THAT  moaning  cry  escaped  unknowingly, 
Long  since  I  ceased  the  stillness'  might  to  drown, 
No  other  voice  will  break  it  save  my  own, 
And  sobs  but  feed  my  sunless  misery. 
Hunger   choked  with   mirthless   monotony, 

Cold  sleepless  nights  except  to  heaven  unknown, 
Forgotten   quite  upon  a  golden  throne, 
Realmless  a  king  for  all  eternity! 

Unutterable   woe    sits   on   my  face, 
And  at  my  heart  dull  lead  of  dumb  despair. 

With  heavy  aching  eyes  and  cheeks  grown  pale 
I  turn  my  back  on  the  last  human  trace, 

And  now  alone  on  through  the  night  I  fare: 
Only  the   dark   I   startled  with   my   wail! 


1 10 


IRREMEABLE 

AS  a  young  bride  white,  quivering  with  bliss, 
Wonderingly  feels  her  garments  fall  away, 
And  her  heart  leap  its  longing  to  obey 
When  she  takes  full  the  deep  rapturous  kiss, 
So  will  the  world's  wail  seek  the  dusk  valleys, 
With  the  cold  riddle  that  leads  life  astray, 
And  there  will  burst  upon  the  darkling  day 
Beauty  in  her  infinite  loveliness! 

O  joyless  journey  over   songless  hills! 

O  human  sobs  and  voices  full  of  tears! 
O  world  I  love  so — it  is  all  for  thee. 

One  wish  throbs  at  my  heart,  tortures  and  thrills, 
To  pour  the  honey  from  my  jar  of  years, 

To  bid  thy  tired  sightless  eyes  to  see! 


120 


CREATION 

THE  poet  is  alone  the  foe  of  fate, 
He  builds  forever  where  brave  deeds  are  vain; 
While   men   go   crazed   looking   upon   the   slain 
Only  his  voice  rings  put  articulate. 
Yet  in  itself  creation  is  too  great 
To  let  that  one  man  bind  it  with  a  chain; 
It  falls  back  mocking  like  the  rainbow-stain 
When   one  grasps  at  the  secret  of  its   state. 

No  man  is  final.     Life  laughs  at  us  all 
Who   try   to   pierce   her   heart's   virginity. 

Each  poet  passes  and  another  sings 
Held   in   the   same   glad   self-sought   martyr-thrall. 

O  who  would  wish  to  unfold  utterly 
The  beauty  and  the  sadness  of  all  things! 


121 


LIST  IN  BELLES-LETTRES 

Published  by  BROWN  BROTHERS 
PINE  STREET  AT  FIFTH,  PHILADELPHIA 

THE  AWAKENING  OF  SPRING.  By  Frank  Wedekind. 
A  tragedy  of  childhood,  dealing  with  the  sex  question  in 
its  relationship  to  the  education  of  children.  A  new  edition 
just  out.  Cloth,  gilt  top,  deckle  edge,  $1.25  net.  By  mail, 
$1.35.  "Here  is  a  play  which  on  its  production  caused  a 
sensation  in  Germany,  and  can  without  exaggeration  be 
described  as  remarkable.  These  studies  of  adolescence 
are  as  impressive  as  they  are  unique." — The  Athenceum,  London. 

THE  CREDITOR.  By  August  Strindberg.  Translated  from 
the  Swedish  by  Francis  J.  Ziegler.  A  psychological  study 
of  the  divorce  question  by  the  greatest  living  Scandinavian 
dramatist.  Cloth,  $1.00  net;  postage,  8  cents.  "Fordringsagare" 
was  produced  for  the  first  time  in  1889,  when  it  was  given 
at  Copenhagen  as  a  substitute  for  "Froken  Julie,"  the  perform- 
ance of  which  was  forbidden  by  the  censor.  Four  years  later 
Berlin  audiences  made  its  acquaintance,  since  when  it  has 
remained  the  most  popular  of  Strindberg^  plays  in  Germany. 

A  DILEMMA.  By  Leonidas  Andreiyeff.  Translated  from  the 
Russian  by  John  Cournos.  Cloth,  75  cents  net;  postage,  7 
cents.  A  remarkable  analysis  of  mental  subtleties  as  experi- 
enced by  a  man  who  is  uncertain  as  to  whether  or  not  he  is 
insane.  A  story  that  it  Poe-like  in  its  intensity  and  full  of 
grim  humor.  "One  of  the  most  interesting  literary  studies  of 
crime  since  Dostoieffsky's  Crime  and  Punishment." — Chicago 
Evening  Post. 

DISCORDS.  A  volume  of  poems  by  Donald  Evans.  With  the 
publication  of  this  volume  must  end  the  oft-repeated  complaint 
that  real  English  poetry  is  no  longer  being  written.  These 
poems  have  no  sermon  to  preach,  no  evils  to  arraign,  no  new 


scheme  of  things  to  propound.  They  are  poems  written  in  the 
sincere  joy  of  artistic  creation,  and  they  possess  a  compelling 
music  and  an  abiding  beauty.  This  poet,  who  is  singing  only 
for  the  pleasure  of  singing,  in  his  sixty  or  more  poems  that 
make  up  the  volume,  offers  vivid  glimpses  of  the  stress  and 
strain  of  modern  life.  He  thinks  frankly,  and  his  utterances 
are  full  of  free  sweep  and  a  passionate  intensity.  Dark  green 
boards,  $1.00  net;  postage,  8  cents. 

SWANWHITE.  By  August  Strindberg.  A  Fairy  Drama,  trans- 
lated by  Francis  J.  Ziegler.  Printed  on  deckle  edge  paper  and 
attractively  bound  in  cloth,  $1.00  net;  postage,  8  cents.  "A 
poetic  idyl,  which  is  charming  in  its  sweet  purity,  delightful 
in  its  optimism,  elusive  in  its  complete  symbolism,  but  whole- 
some in  its  message  that  pure  love  can  conquer  evil.  So  out  of 
the  cold  North,  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  world's  most  terrible 
misogynist,  comes  a  strange  message — one  which  is  as  sweet 
as  it  is  unexpected.  And  August  Strindberg,  the  enemy  of  love, 
sings  that  pure  love  is  all  powerful  and  all-conquering." — 
Springfield,  Mass.,  Republican. 

THE  WOMAN  AND  THE  FIDDLER.  A  play  in  three  acts 
by  Arne  Norrevang.  Translated  from  the  Norwegian  by  Mrs. 
Herman  Sandby.  Cloth,  uncut  edges,  $1.00  net.  By  mail,  $1.08. 
This  play  is  based  upon  one  of  the  legends  of  the  fiddlers  who 
used  to  go  about  from  valley  to  valley,  playing  for  the  peasants 
at  their  festivities. 

FOR  A  NIGHT.  A  novelette  by  Emile  Zola.  Translated  from 
the  French  by  Alison  M.  Lederer.  $1.00  net.  Postage,  10  cents. 
The  imaginative  realism,  the  poetic  psychology,  of  this  story  of 
the  abnormal  Therese  who  kills  her  lover ;  of  the  simple  minded 
Julien  who  becomes  an  accessory  after  the  fact  for  love  of 
her,  and  finally  "let  himself  fall"  into  the  river,  having  first 
dropped  the  body  of  Colombel  over,  are  gripping  and  intense. 
The  masochism  at  the  basis  of  the  love  of  Therese  and  Colom- 
bel, resulting  in  the  murder,  is  depicted  with  wonderful  art 
and  yet  without  any  coarseness.  The  author  does  not  moralize, 
but  with  relentless  pen  delineates  that  madness  of  Therese 
sown  in  her  soul  from  birth — a  madness  which  her  convent 
training  rather  enhances  than  abrogates.  The  book  contains 
two  other  typical  Zola  stories:  "The  Maid  of  the  Dawber" 
and  "Complements" — two  delightful,  crisp  bits  of  literature. 


IN  PREPARATION: 
FROKEN  JULIE.     A  realistic  tragedy  by  August  Strindberg. 

A  LIVING  CORPSE.  A  drama  in  six  acts  and  twelve  tableaux 
by  Leo.  N.  Tolstoi. 

MODERN  AUTHORS'  SERIES : 

Under  this  title  appear  from  time  to  time  short  stories  and 
dramas,  chiefly  translations  from  the  work  of  modern  European 
authors,  each  containing  from  32  to  64  pages.  Printed  in  large, 
clear  type  and  tastefully  bound  in  gray  boards  with  paper  label. 
Price  of  each  volume,  25  cents  net.  By  mail,  29  cents.  Five 
volumes  now  ready: 

SILENCE.  By  Leonidas  Andreiyeff.  Translated  from  the 
Russian.  Second  edition.  An  unusual  short  story  that  reads 
like  a  poem  in  prose  by  the  leading  exponent  of  the  new 
Russian  school  of  novelists. 

MOTHERLOVE.  By  August  Strindberg.  Translated  from  the 
Swedish.  An  example  of  Strindberg's  power  as  analyst  of 
human  nature.  A  one-act  play  in  which  the  dramatist  lays 
bare  the  weakness  of  a  human  soul. 

A  RED  FLOWER.  By  Vsevolod  Gar  shin.  A  powerful  short 
story  by  one  of  Russia's  popular  authors,  unknown  as  yet  to 
the  English-speaking  public. 

THE  GRISLEY  SUITOR.  By  Frank  Wedekind.  Translated 
from  the  German.  An  excellent  story  of  the  De-Maupassant 
type. 

RABBI  EZRA  AND  THE  VICTIM.  By  Frank  Wedekind. 
Two  sketches  characteristic  of  the  pen  of  this  noted  German 
author. 


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